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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666935">Our Revolution</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavier87/pseuds/xavier87'>xavier87</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>18th Century, Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed, Assassin Lexa, Assassins vs. Templars, Blood and Injury, Clexa, Doctor Clarke Griffin, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, French Revolution, Minor Character Death, Paris (City), Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:46:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>71,177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavier87/pseuds/xavier87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa, an 18-year-old Assassin saved by Titus when she was a child and trained by him since, is injured during a mission and saved by a young physician with deep blue eyes. The two of them rapidly become close, despite Lexa's dangerous life.<br/>As the French Revolution plays around them and the Templar threat increases, will the two women survive long enough to see it through and get their happy ending?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anya &amp; Lexa (The 100), Anya/Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Octavia Blake/Lincoln</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>334</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: December 1778</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is inspired by the game Assassin's Creed Unity, with a large dose of Clexa, some French historical figures, and the Guillotine as a special guest appearance.<br/>Enjoy 😁</p><p>I recommend this video and pretty cool song by Miracle of Sound to get into "Assassin" mode, especially if you've never played this game: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=939ACReWKfE&amp;list=PL7vOu0c9nrr9-c_GLm6lMu7KLWu7VjM6Q&amp;index=5</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun was setting over Paris, on a cold evening of December 1778, its beams illuminating the western rose window of Notre-Dame. The old gothic cathedral’s bells pealed with enthusiasm, their ringing so loud it threatened to deafen the mass gathered on the paved forecourt to celebrate the happy royal news. Colorful ribbons floated in the air and, despite the cold wind and the threat of snow, children were dancing the farandole and singing sweet rhymes.</p><p>All around, faceless people, merchants, soldiers, and bourgeois exchanged cheers and easy smiles, rejoicing for their King and Queen. Who could believe that a little over 10 years later, the merry cries would be replaced by shouts of anger and fear, and that the same crowd would take arms against the Crown? That those who were now embracing each other and clapping strangers’ shoulders would find themselves on two opposite sides, fighting with pikes and bayonets until rivers of blood flowed down the streets of cobblestones all the way to the Seine?</p><p>Ignoring the hurrahs and smiles around her, a young girl was passing through the crowd, as inconspicuously as possible. Not that many would pay attention to this street kid, recognizable at her messy chestnut mane, her tattered clothes not nearly enough in this season, or the streaks of dirt and mud covering her face and skinny body. Another orphan, another wasted life, her parents gone too soon, victims of one of the numerous diseases that plagued the lower classes. So many of them abounded in the dirtier, more dangerous streets of the capital, often preys of the thieves and ill-intentioned men who used them to do their bidding. But with no other family to take care of them and the orphanages full to the brim, what choice remained for those children than to steal in hopes to survive another day, another week?</p><p>And yet, if one soul were to pay attention to the hungry nine-year-old roaming on the <em>île de la Cité</em>, the center of Paris, they would notice the emerald eyes, too big for her childish face. The striking orbs were made brighter by the layer of grime that covered her features, rendering her more anonymous than a Venetian masquerade mask. In them shone intelligence and seriousness far beyond her years, the unquestionable result of the hardships life had thrown at her since her Papa and Mama had fallen ill and passed away, not leaving enough money to be buried anywhere other than in a mass grave. But the child refused to lie down in some dirty corner and die, forgotten by the world. Instead, she fought and struggled, every day, as she had done for weeks, to find some food and a dry place to spend the night. Once or twice, some kind older woman had taken pity on her and offered her some bread, but she was usually reduced to stealing her pittance. An apple here, a crust of bread there, barely enough to keep her functioning till she could put her hands on another meager meal.</p><p>For once, Lady Luck seemed to be on her side, as the royal news relayed by the town criers offered the perfect distraction. After looking left and right to make sure no one was paying attention to her, she approached a stall of fruits and vegetables and pocketed a red apple so fast one would have missed it by blinking. She should have left there and then, taking advantage of the crowd to disappear before getting caught, but the temptation was too big. Who knew when another occasion like this would present itself again? Not listening to her gut feeling, she grabbed a second apple that disappeared under her holed jacket as quickly as the first one had. This time, however, the merchant had finally noticed the scrawny girl standing too close to his fruits and was watching her with an eagle eye. Before she could move away, he started shouting at the passers-by, gesticulating in her direction.</p><p>“There! That thief! Don’t let her escape!”</p><p>Forgetting her hunger and the tiredness in her bones, the girl started running for her life, pushing and jostling the people in front of her. She could hear the man shouting and following her, but no one else tried to grab her, most onlookers stepping aside as she got closer to them, not wanting to get involved. She turned right on <em>rue de la Juiverie</em>, named after the Jews who inhabited it until the 12<sup>th</sup> century when they were expelled from the French Kingdom by Philip Augustus. The width of the street allowed some movement despite the size of the crowd that had gathered that evening, and the young brunette managed to put some distance between herself and the angry merchant. She crossed the <em>Pont Notre-Dame</em> and, panting, took a left onto the <em>rue du Pied-de-Bœuf</em> where she hoped to find a hiding place to savor the fruit of her larceny in peace.</p><p>Before she could do so, however, a hooded figure appeared in front of her, blocking her way. The girl didn’t believe in magic or spirits, but she could have sworn there was no one there a moment before. And yet, she was now faced with an average-height, medium-built man, whose face remained hidden under his pointy white headgear. She tried to dodge the mute statue in her path, but the man sidestepped as she did, stopping her once, twice, thrice, until she stamped with a huff.</p><p>“You do know that stealing will only land you in jail, or worse, right?” he said, his baritone voice all the more impressive under his strange clothing.</p><p>“They would have to catch me first,” she boasted, praying that he wouldn’t see under the mask of false bravado she instinctively put on.</p><p>“You were running straight, pushing people around so much it was easy to follow your tracks,” the man admonished her, making her raise an eyebrow in surprise at the unexpected lesson. “You were lucky there were no city guards around, or you would have been caught in no time.”        </p><p>As the girl kept quiet, unsure what to think of the strange man who was still in her path but didn’t seem to want to arrest her, he asked, “Do you know what is happening today?”</p><p>“The Queen gave birth to a girl,” the orphan muttered, but she looked at him straight in the eyes when she replied, not wanting to appear intimidated.</p><p>“True. And what does that mean, do you think?”</p><p>The brunette pondered over the question for a minute before answering, “The people are happy that there is finally a child, even though it’s a girl. They are celebrating and cheering for the King and Queen. And it means that maybe next time, the Queen can give birth to a boy.”</p><p>“Can you read, child?”</p><p>The man didn’t seem to be put off or disappointed when she shook her head, regret and embarrassment competing on her face. She wished to know how, as it would open new horizons to her in her mind, but her parents had been too poor to afford to give her any sorts of lessons, and now it was too late. Who would teach an orphan, a girl, how to read? What a waste of time it would be.</p><p>“So, you are uneducated, but not uninformed,” the stranger said, at last, sounding surprisingly pleased with her answer. “It is a good thing, trust me, it shows your intelligence and resourcefulness. Those are qualities that can lead you far in life if you know how to use them.”</p><p>The girl could only shrug in response, the whole interaction confusing her greatly. The hooded man didn’t seem to want to call the guards on her, though he had seen her steal the two apples, and now he was praising her for being illiterate. What a strange day she was having!</p><p>“I believe there is more to you than a vagabond,” the man spoke again, interrupting her thoughts. “With the proper training and teachings, you could be destined for great things. If you follow me, you will be a part of something bigger than yourself, have a roof over your head, and a purpose. What do you say?”</p><p>The brunette kept quiet for a moment, appraising the unexpected proposal. She knew that it could be her only chance at making it past her 10<sup>th</sup> birthday, the life on the streets was cruel to the likes of her. It sounded too good to be true, though, and she hadn’t made it so far by giving her trust blindly.</p><p>“How do I know you won’t just kill me or sell me to bad people?” she asked, lifting her fists in an attempt to appear more dangerous than a scrawny nine-year-old could be.</p><p>“You don’t,” the figure acknowledged with a nod. “I guess this is the first leap of faith you’ll have to take. If you don’t want to, you’re free to go. But this is a one-time offer. You’ll never see me again, and will most likely finish your days in jail or the gutter.”</p><p>“OK,” the girl accepted after a moment. “I’ll come with you. If you promise to teach me how to read.”</p><p>“I promise,” he answered with a small smile, before adding. “My name is Titus. What is yours, child?”</p><p>“Alexandria Dubois.”</p><p>“Well, young Alexandria, welcome to the Assassins.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>   "Even when you have a dead boring job, make it fun."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you're intrigued so far.<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. March 1788 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those of you not familiar with the game Assassin's Creed Unity (or with the series in general), here is the trailer:<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMgaRTZhfNE<br/>You don't need it to understand this story, but it will give you an idea of the fighting style, use of the hidden blade, and free running that will feature fairly often in this fic 😉<br/>Besides, it's a beautiful video so you should watch it anyway haha!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Curse Titus and his overconfidence</em>, Lexa groaned as she ran for her life, her left hand pressing on her flank where the bullet had grazed her. Her undershirt was soaked in blood, and the red liquid was slowly permeating her shirt and coat. If it weren’t for its dark blue color, the stain would be visible to the onlookers. Not that there were many on the rooftops of Paris, but still. Not to mention the risk of leaving droplets of blood behind, indicating the direction in which she had escaped to her enemy. And in her present condition, she wouldn’t stand much of a chance if it came to a fight.</p><p>All things considered, her day had started well, with a light breakfast taken at the Assassins’ hideout located under the <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, the other natural island with the <em>île de la Cité</em> where her story had truly begun. It wasn’t that Lexa couldn’t afford some lodging elsewhere in Paris, but with Titus sending her on missions at all hours, and the threat of the Templars, it was simpler to reside at the Headquarter of the secret organization she had been a part of for 10 years. Besides — and she would rather swim naked in the Seine with all its detritus and waste than admit it — for the young woman who had once been all alone in the world, it was nice to have a place where she belonged, among people she could call family.</p><p>There was Titus, her former mentor and teacher, who had saved her that fateful day not far from Notre-Dame when he had seen something in her no one else ever had. True to his word, he brought the brunette to the Assassins’ hideout and introduced her to the then-Master Assassin, Arno Victor Dorian, and the rest of the council. Her training began right after, and she could still remember the broken bones and hours of studying forced upon her. But she persevered, getting back up every time she was knocked down, becoming stronger, faster, quieter, until she was nothing more than a shadow, a ghost on the Parisian streets and roofs. After Arno’s retirement the year before, Titus had become the new Master Assassin, taking over the responsibility of leading the Parisian contingent of the Brotherhood. After a period of relative peace, their eternal fight against the Templars had resumed, and with it, the number of dangerous missions and the loss of comrades.</p><p>There was also Anya, a couple of years older than her, and the closest thing she had to a sister. She was an orphan as well, her mother dying in childbirth and her father, an Assassin too, killed during a mission. Their similar situation might have been the reason why the lean girl with dirty-blonde hair lighter at the tip and almond eyes denoting some Asian ancestry had taken the young brunette under her wing not long after their first meeting. When Titus had been too busy with his own missions, she had offered to train Alexandria, now nicknamed Lexa. She had even helped the green-eyed girl practice her reading, not once complaining when Lexa forced her to read Voltaire again and again until the book was all dog-eared and worn-out. Though the two of them weren’t keen on displays of affection, a strong sense of friendship and sisterly love united them. Lexa would give her life for her without a second thought, and she did not doubt that Anya would do the same. The brunette was on good terms with some other recruits, such as Lincoln, a kind giant specialized in hand-to-hand combat and healing, or Tris, a younger girl who looked at Anya like she had put the stars in the sky, but the tall brown-eyed blonde was her favorite partner in crime so to speak.</p><p>How she wished her friend could be with her now, having her back as she had so often had during similar missions. Alas, Titus had sent her alone this time, arguing that only one Assassin should be needed and that it would be easier for one person to remain incognito than for two to do the same. Her former mentor had apparently underestimated the danger, and Lexa might pay the ultimate price for it.</p><p>The now completely bald man had charged her to protect a writer and pamphleteer named Jacques Pierre Brissot who had recently made some powerful enemies. After spending some time in the Bastille in 1784 for a pornographic pamphlet against Marie-Antoinette and openly disagreeing with the Catholic Church, the man had embraced the abolitionist cause. In February, he founded an anti-slavery group known as the <em>Society of the Friends of the Blacks</em>. Needless to say, not everybody supported his ideas, and he began to receive threatening letters. The Assassins agreed to protect him until his upcoming departure to the United States where he was scheduled to visit some abolitionists.</p><p>As planned, Lexa met Brissot in the morning at his house on the Left Bank, south of the Seine. The writer let her in after she identified herself and asked her to wait near the door while he went back upstairs to gather some papers he wished to deliver to his editor before his departure. As the prudence ingrained in her by years of training demanded, the brunette inspected the four windows on the ground floor, two on each side, looking for any suspicious behavior or potential threat. Once she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she nodded at her charge who had returned downstairs, and the two of them exited. The plan was simple, really. Brissot would walk to his editor’s place, a few streets away, Lexa following him at a close distance.</p><p>The 18-year-old wore the clothing typical of her organization, a white shirt, blue pants with vertical white stripes, and a dark blue coat which hood ended just above her viridian eyes and dissimulated her braided hair and part of her face. When she was out to kill someone, she wore a warpaint of a sort that mimicked the grime which had covered her face on the day she had met Titus. But today, as she had to remain inconspicuous, she forwent it. Apart from the sword hanging at her hip, she carried various weapons dissimulated all over her body. Her throwing knives were hidden in her belt and black boots, some small bombs securely kept in a pocket, a couple of pistols were covered by her floating coat, and her favorite weapon, the hidden blade that doubled as a phantom blade capable of throwing projectiles at a short distance was tightly tied around her right wrist.</p><p>Lexa remained a handful of steps behind the writer, her eyes moving from the street in front of them to the rooftops in an uninterrupted dance. The Parisians were going about their business, shouting out to each other, calling out customers, and pacing the paved street. The brunette sidestepped to avoid the content of a chamber pot being thrown from the window of one of the houses, grimacing at the stench that hit her nostrils.</p><p>They had almost made it to their destination when Lexa’s senses suddenly went on high alert. Not that she could explain what had caused such a gut reaction. The sound of a pistol being cocked? The smell of gunpowder reaching her nose? A shadow standing out on the ground? Either way, she had learned to trust her instincts, and after yelling at Brissot to run, she spun around and looked for the threat. On one of the rooftops overlooking the street they were on, a masked figure clad in black was crouched, a gun at hand. Her opponent was too far for her to hit him, but she threw a dart with her phantom blade nonetheless to distract him while her charge escaped, before running to the nearby house. Not giving its occupants time to react, she made it to the top floor in record time and, leaning through one of the windows, hauled herself onto the roof with ease.</p><p>The whole operation took less than a minute, but, of course, her adversary hadn’t remained immobile, and she started to look for him. Stepping carefully from behind walls and parapets, the young Assassin walked as silently as a cat, her phantom blade armed and ready. When a bullet ricocheted on the wall, centimeters away from her head, she rolled to take cover. The masked man, a Templar assuredly, was positioned two houses down, his body hidden behind a chimney. Lexa could have moved to eliminate the threat, but instead, she chose to let the situation last and give Brissot time to make his escape and find refuge somewhere, and it proved to be her downfall.</p><p>If she had used a bomb to flush him out, she would surely have won the fight and killed or subdued her opponent without too much difficulty. By waiting, she unintentionally gave him time to move around quietly and surprise her by attacking from her side. Her cat-like reflexes had saved her from further damage when she had jerked aside, the bullet grazing her flank instead of burying itself in her guts, but the damage had been done nonetheless. Covering her escape with a smoke bomb, she had scrambled to retreat, jumping from roof to roof as fast as her wound allowed.</p><p>And now she was running, her boots hitting the tiles with a soft thump, her left hand preventing her blood from escaping too fast while she held herself to the parapets and walls with her right. She couldn’t hear her opponent anymore, but that didn’t mean that the man had given up the pursuit. For all she knew, he was following her in silence, waiting for the moment she would slow down and lower her guard to strike again. Her breath was coming out in heavier pants, and the effort to remain conscious and alert was tiring her too quickly for her own taste. She knew that, if the Templar was to corner her on a rooftop, she would die. Since she couldn’t fight anymore, she would have to disappear into the crowd and hide until she could return to the Assassins’ hideout.</p><p>Looking left and right to make sure her hunter was nowhere near, she found some of the steel steps on one side of a house that typically allowed access to the roof, and began to climb down. In her tired state, she had to wrap her arms around each step before lowering her body, lest she would stumble and fall, breaking her neck on the pavement. After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, her feet finally touch the ground, and she let out a deep breath.</p><p>She found herself on <em>rue de Buci</em>, not far from the <em>Foire Saint-Germain</em>, a fairground established during the 15<sup>th</sup> century by Louis XI for the benefit of the nearby abbey of Saint-Germain. Taking advantage of the bustling area, Lexa slipped through the crowd, walking down the <em>rue du Four</em> before turning left on the small alley called <em>rue Princesse</em>. There, she let herself rest for a moment and leaned heavily against the façade of a house, catching her breath. She had only meant to stop briefly before continuing her journey south and then east, bypassing the streets she had taken with Brissot and where the Templar might still be lurking, but exhaustion set in, and she lost consciousness, her body slowly sliding against the wall. She lay on the pavement, some of her chestnut hair escaping her hood and covering her face, chin resting on her chest, arms against her body, blood seeping through her clothes, and legs sprawled in front of her. If not for the slow rise of her bosom, one would have believed her to be dead.</p><p>In her state, she didn’t feel strong arms lift her from the unforgiving ground, and thought it a dream when her body started to float down the street, each step jolting her slightly. She also assumed she had imagined the deep masculine voice that resonated in the chest against which her head rested.</p><p>“This sounds like a terrible idea. We don’t know who she is or what happened to her. If your mother hears of this, she’ll have a fit!”</p><p>“Then we should make sure not to tell her about it, should we not? Come on, trust me. I know what I’m doing. Besides, look at her. Do you really think she is in any position to harm me? She needs help, a doctor’s help.”</p><p>“Fine. But if this goes south, it will be on you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jacques Pierre Brissot was a revolutionist and French figure who died guillotined in 1793. Although the location of his house and the attempt on his life described here aren’t real, the rest was, and he spent some time in the US in 1788 not long after forming his anti-slavery society.</p><p>Arno Victor Dorian = Main character of the game Assassin’s Creed Unity this fic is inspired by. Young Assassin in 1789, lives through the Revolution and its aftermaths; here I made him older and a Master Assassin already, which he isn’t in the game.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. March 1788 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The rue du Four still exists, and owes its name to the large oven that used to be there. The locals were forced to bake their bread there and pay a tax to do so [Wikipedia is the unofficial sponsor of this fic and the endless pit of information where I have been spending way too much time recently.]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Lexa regained consciousness, she was surprised to find herself indoors, in what felt like a relatively comfortable bed, instead of on the cold pavement of the Parisian streets. A throbbing pain came from her left side, but before she could inspect her wound, her tiredness won and she fell back into a slumber.</p><p>The second time she woke, the itchiness in her side was more pronounced and accompanied by hunger pangs that helped her stay awake. She was lying on her back, her head resting on a fluffy pillow and a mattress softer than the one she was used to. The blanket that covered her body all the way to her chin was of good quality and appeared clean. Lifting her head with a grunt, she observed her surroundings, looking for clues as to where she was, as well as possible escape routes and threats.</p><p>The room was without any light, save for the window on one side that seemed to face the north. Based on the color of the sky and the luminosity, it was late afternoon, meaning that Lexa had slept most of the day. She had no idea if Brissot had made it out alive or not, and could only hope the distraction she had provided had been enough to allow him to escape unharmed. Apart from the bed that she was in, there were a wooden table and a chair placed near the window, as well as a shelf covered in books. Lexa was too far to make out their titles, but they seemed thick and complicated, not the novel-type. No dust was visible anywhere, making the young Assassin wonder if this was the house of a bourgeois with a cleaning lady rather than the one of a poorer family.</p><p>Lifting the blanket to look at herself, Lexa realized that whoever had found and healed her had also taken off her clothes and weapons. She was left in only her underpants, her breasts clad in their usual bindings, the left side of her stomach covered with a cloth tightly tied above her navel. After taking another look around the room, she noticed her boots by the chair and what seemed to be her pants neatly folded on it, but there was no sign of her shirt, her coat, and more importantly, of her various blades and pistols. Without them, half-naked and injured, and with no indication where she was or who could be waiting for her behind the door, the brunette felt more vulnerable than ever.</p><p>After hearing some noise from the stairs, certainly someone coming to check up on her, the Assassin extricated herself from the bed with difficulty, her lips tight in an attempt to stifle the groan of pain that threatened to escape. She wobbled towards the chair, intent on breaking one of the legs and use it to defend herself if need be. Before she could reach it, however, the door opened and the sight that greeted her made her forget everything about her situation.</p><p>Standing at the threshold of the door, an angel was looking at her with pink lips parted in surprise. Or at least, she seemed like an angel to Lexa, with her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders and a round face so beautiful Botticelli could have chosen it as a model for his painting <em>The Birth of Venus</em>, one of Lexa’s personal favorites. A beauty mark drew attention on the small, pretty mouth, and the deep blue eyes that were now staring at the brunette with concern reminded the Assassin of the sky not long after the sun has set over the horizon. The woman, who appeared to be a year or two younger than herself, was wearing a simple but elegant light blue dress that showed a hint of cleavage, with no coat or shawl over her shoulders as the night hadn’t set in yet and the spring day was warm enough. Before Lexa could inquire about her situation, the stranger spoke in alarm.</p><p>“What are you doing? You should not be out of bed. You might pull out your stitches.”</p><p>Taken aback by the genuine concern and the commanding tone of the pretty stranger, Lexa forgot for a moment that she was a proficient thief and killer, and lay back on the bed. She didn’t even try to stop the blonde when she pulled the cover over Lexa’s body, secretly enjoying the attention for once. The Assassins were her family, and she loved them dearly, but none of them, not even Anya, were prone to displays of affection and tenderness. Apart from the handful of her previous lovers, the brunette wasn’t used to finding herself on the receiving end of a gentle touch, and she briefly basked in it.</p><p>“Where am I?” Lexa eventually asked in a low and strained voice once the stranger seemed satisfied to see her back on the mattress. “And who are you?”</p><p>“My name is Clarke Griffon,” the blonde replied easily, and her raspy voice did things to the brunette’s body that she would have blushed about if she had more blood to spare in less than vital areas. “You are in my house, <em>rue du Four</em>. I found you lying on the street at midday today, and a friend helped me carry you here.”</p><p>“Are you the one who healed me?”</p><p>“Yes. My mother practices as a physician, and she has been training me since I was a child. Luckily for you, your wound was not too deep, though you seemed to have lost a lot of blood. It seeped through your shirt and coat. I had them washed, but I am afraid your shirt might be ruined.”</p><p>“Thank you, <em>Mademoiselle</em> Griffon. It seems that I owe you my life,” Lexa said with gratitude. Though she couldn’t understand why the younger woman had gone through the trouble of bringing her to her home and treating her wound, she seemed to be without further motive or ill intention and to have saved Lexa out of pure kindness. “I would very much like to thank your mother as well for her hospitality.”</p><p>“Oh, my mother is not here,” her savior waved the request off. “I love her with all my heart, but we tend to drive each other quite mad when we are under the same roof. This is my home, and mine alone.”</p><p>Lexa was surprised at the statement and tried her best to hide it. It wasn’t her place to judge after all, especially since the blonde had saved her life and taken quite the risk by bringing a stranger to a place where she had no one to defend her — even a stranger as weak as Lexa had been. And yet, it was almost unheard of for a maiden to live alone like this, without a brother or chaperone to look after her. She could only imagine the iron will the woman had to possess to manage to convince her parents to let allow such a thing.  </p><p>“And how about yourself? How did you come to be lying on the ground, with what looked like a bullet wound, and carrying a veritable arsenal? I almost cut myself on one of your blades while undressing you.”</p><p>The brunette grew hotter at the thought of the woman removing her clothes. It clearly had been too long since anyone had done so, even if in the present case, it was out of necessity rather than desire. The mention of her weapons made her uneasy, and she pondered how to answer. She couldn’t tell her savior who and what she was, it was one of the most sacred rules of the Brotherhood, and one Titus particularly insisted upon. Only those who were Assassins themselves, or worked closely with them, such as the thieves, the mercenaries, and the prostitutes knew of their existence. To reveal it to a non-initiate, unless under extreme circumstances, would be punished with the utmost severity. Though it saddened her a great deal, there was no other option but to lie, or at least twist the truth, and so she did.</p><p>“My name is Lexa Dubois. I often work as a mercenary, and today a man hired me to protect him from a jealous husband. As it turned out, the threat was more real than he had anticipated, and I got hit while he escaped.”</p><p>“Hmm, it sounds like you live a rather dangerous life, Lexa,” the blonde said, and hearing her name being uttered by those glistening pink lips didn’t help the brunette regain her focus. “From what little I have seen while treating your wound, it was not the first time you were injured. Have you ever considered a more peaceful path? I cannot imagine finding a husband will be easy when you walk around dressed as a man and risk your life for a few coins.”</p><p>“It is a risky business,” Lexa admitted, doing her best not to take umbrage at the judgment in Clarke’s voice. “But I enjoy the freedom that comes with it, and I am rather good at it too, despite today’s mishap. As for a husband, let’s just say I do not care much for one.”</p><p>“I see,” the blonde replied, a discreet smirk pulling at her lips. Maybe, the brunette started to hope, she wasn’t the only one who preferred the company of the fairer sex? “Well, you lost a lot of blood today. As your physician, I’m ordering you to stay in bed for at least a couple of days to give your body time to recover before you resume gallivanting.”</p><p>“As <em>my</em> physician?” the brunette couldn’t help but parrot with a smirk.</p><p>“Well, I was the one who stitched you up, was I not? It would like to believe that I earned that title.”</p><p>It was surprisingly easy, this banter between them. Lexa was usually wary of strangers, a habit picked up during her time on the streets and reinforced by years spent in the Brotherhood. But with this kind and witty girl, the more playful side of her personality was showing, and she didn’t find it in herself to care. The blonde could have easily killed her on the street, or simply left her to die of her wounds. Most people, even those who weren’t potential enemies, wouldn’t have bothered to check on Lexa while she lay in a pool of her own blood. It went against most of Titus’s teachings, but the 18-year-old felt herself relax in the presence of the stranger, and she decided to let her guard down enough to have the blonde care after her. In her state, she wouldn’t be able to walk back to the hideout anyway, and if the Templar who had injured her knew where she was, he would have finished her off already. She should be safe here for a couple of days, though she hated imposing on such a kind soul.</p><p>“Very well, <em>Mademoiselle</em> Griffon. I will trust your medical opinion and will rest for a day or two before taking my leave. However, I cannot, in good conscience, occupy your bed for that long. If you were kind enough to put a blanket or something on the floor, it should be more than enough.”</p><p>“You may call me Clarke, and please, don’t be silly. Having you lay on the floor is exactly what I am trying to avoid by making you stay here. This is a guest bedroom, that I also use as a study,” the blonde said while she pointed at the table and various books. Though she still couldn’t see their titles from where she was, Lexa imagined that they were treatises on anatomy, plants, and other subjects. “My maid Charlotte has already left for the day after preparing the supper, but she will be back tomorrow and can assist you if you need anything. Which reminds me, are you hungry?”</p><p>Not wanting to take further advantage of the woman’s good nature, Lexa was about to tell a white lie and pretend not to be as famished as she truly felt, when her stomach betrayed her by growling loudly enough that she grimaced, earning herself a chuckle from Clarke.</p><p>“I will take that as a yes. Please, stay here while I go fetch us two plates and some wine.”</p><p>And with that, the blonde angel left the room and disappeared downstairs for a few minutes. When she returned, she didn’t comment on the way Lexa inhaled her dinner — a delicious soup with some potatoes and meat, indicating a certain level of wealth — and the comfortable silence enveloped them. The brunette thanked her profusely again for saving her life and taking such good care of her and wanted nothing more than to converse with her host. Alas, after the copious supper, the exhaustion caught up with her and her eyelids began to close of their own accord. Sensing the change in her patient, Clarke wished her a good night and exited in a quiet shuffle of fabric. When she turned to close the door and noticed that Lexa was already asleep, a smile found its way onto her round face, and she maneuvered the knob as silently as she could.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The map of Paris I used dates from 1785 and was drawn by Jean Lattré. Some of the street names have since changed, so don't be surprised if you can't find them on a recent map of Paris.</p><p>It is available here: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b53029494z/f1.item.zoom#</p><p>Would you like me to add a map with the important streets/areas where the action happens highlighted at the end of each chapter?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. March 1788 (Part 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following two days were among the best of Lexa’s life. Clarke checked up her wound several times and appeared satisfied with the healing process. Lexa was curious to know more about the blonde’s parents and situation, but the mood darkened every time she oriented the conversation in that direction, and after a couple of attempts she gave up, understanding that it was a sore topic. As she couldn’t talk freely about her own situation either, they silently agreed to stay on less personal and far more pleasant subjects.</p><p>Her blonde host proved to be excellent company, and the brunette couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much. They talked of philosophy, traveling, women’s rights, medicine... The Assassin was enthralled by the intelligence and the wit of the 17-year-old. To her surprise, the younger woman also dabbled in arts and agreed to show her some of her paintings after Lexa practically begged. Most of them depicted natural scenery, the green of the forests melting into the blue hues of the night sky, and they rendered the brunette speechless.</p><p>She also got to meet Charlotte, Clarke’s maid, a slim 13-year-old girl with dark blond hair braided on top of her head and brown eyes. Once the preteen was back into the kitchen, busy with cleaning and preparing the supper, the blonde explained that Charlotte’s parents were dead, mugged for a few coins two years prior. The Griffons had found her on the streets, dirty and hungry, and had offered her a chance to earn her pittance and have a roof over her head. Lexa bit her lips to keep herself from revealing how close to home the story hit, and when Clarke left her for a moment to relieve herself, she wiped away a few tears.</p><p>What she would have given back then for people like Clarke and her family to offer her a helping hand! She loved her life and was proud to belong to the Brotherhood and follow its creed. And yet, she couldn’t help to wonder at times, when she was recovering from an injury or after a particularly trying mission, what her life would be if someone other than Titus had found her that day. Would she, like Charlotte, be working for a bourgeois family? Would she have enjoyed wearing dresses and smiling at pretty girls instead of running the streets and plunging her blade into the heart of bad people? It was pointless to think of what couldn’t be, she scolded herself. Countless orphans died on the streets every day, forgotten by society and abused by their comrades of misfortune. She owed Titus a debt that could never be repaid, and it was a poor show of gratitude to wish for anything else.</p><p>Next, she thought of her fellow Assassins, how worried they probably were after not hearing from her for over 24 hours. By now, they had to know of the attack on Brissot and would be looking for her. Unfortunately, as she couldn’t send a message without letting Clarke into the secret, they would have to wait till she was well enough to leave the blonde’s care. And seeing how sweet the young woman was, Lexa selfishly hoped her wound would take longer to heal.</p><p>God wasn’t on her side, as it seemed, because after lunch on her third day on <em>rue du Four</em>, Clarke deemed her capable of standing and walking around, which meant their time together was coming to an end. For the nth time, the green-eyed brunette thanked her hostess for rescuing her and taking such good care of her. Sad at the thought of never seeing the younger woman again, she went as far as asking if she might visit, making the blonde chuckle.</p><p>“Of course, you can, silly! I will have to remove your stitches in about a week anyway, so I will definitely see you soon.”</p><p>“You do not need to trouble yourself with that, Clarke. I have some friends with medical knowledge, they will be more than happy to—,” Lexa started, before being interrupted.</p><p>“And have someone potentially sabotage my work?! I would think not. I expect you in no more than eight days, do you hear me, Lexa? And if your wound reopens, or if you reinjure yourself, you’d better come sooner.”</p><p>“<em>Bien, Mademoiselle</em>,” the brunette nodded with a smirk before taking her leave, her legs moving slower than usual after 72 hours of inactivity.</p><p>Back in the Brotherhood’s signature clothing, plus a shirt offered by Clarke as hers had been unsalvageable, Lexa pulled her hood over her hair and headed for the hideout. Despite the sadness in her heart as she left her new friend, she found some comfort in the familiar weight of her weapons strapped all over her body. Her right wrist, especially, felt normal for the first time in three days now that it was clad in the bracer that hid the blade typical of her people. It seemed unlikely that the man who had injured her was still lurking around; hence she chose the most direct way to the hideout, following the Seine River to the <em>île Saint-Louis</em>.</p><p>The <em>pont de la Tournelle</em> that led on the island was in sight when her instincts warned her of a danger, and she spun around, her extended blade stopping millimeters away from the tender skin of a throat. The sudden move pulled at her flank, and she bit back a groan. To her credit, the woman she was now facing didn’t even flinch at the attack, choosing instead to roll her eyes forcefully to mask the concern in them.</p><p>“Seriously, Lexa?! You disappear for days, and this is how you greet me? Titus was beside himself.”</p><p>“I ran into some complications and got shot. Besides, you should know better than to approach an Assassin from behind.”</p><p>“What happened?” her friend asked with a frown as her eyes roamed over Lexa’s body, looking for a sign of injury. “Are you well?”</p><p>“Yes, Anya, I’m fine,” the brunette replied as she moved forward towards the hideout, her fellow Assassin in tow. “Someone tried to shoot Brissot as we were heading for his editor’s house. I told him to run and provided a distraction, but the man was good. One of his bullets grazed my side, and I had to flee.”</p><p>“A Templar?”</p><p>“Who else could it be?” Lexa shrugged, before continuing. “I passed out from blood loss a few streets away. Someone found me and treated my wound. I was forced to stay low for two days while recovering enough that I could walk, and here I am.”</p><p>“Someone found you, hmm? Who was it? One of our allies?” Anya asked, sensing that there was more to the story, something the brunette wasn’t sharing.</p><p>“No, not an ally. Just a physician who happens to live near where I collapsed. They let me stay at their place so I wouldn’t pull a stitch by moving too soon. I got lucky, really. Any news of Brissot?” Lexa inquired, desperate to change the topic. The dirty-blond-haired woman was her oldest friend, but at times she was like a dog with a bone, and the green-eyed Assassin wasn’t ready to talk about Clarke yet. Not that she had done anything wrong, she had followed orders and kept her lips sealed, but her encounter with the beautiful physician-in-training was something that, for now, she wanted to keep to herself and not share with the world.</p><p>“So, it was a woman, wasn’t it? You’re getting all weird,” Anya teased her with a knowing smirk. Sensing that Lexa wouldn’t open up about it anytime soon, she eventually relented and answered, “Brissot is fine. He managed to leave the city and should be on a ship to America by now. No one told you to get shot in the process, but ‘mission accomplished’ I guess. Good luck explaining what happened to Titus, though. He was convinced his precious little protege had been captured by the Templars and was ready to declare war on them.”</p><p>“We’re already at war,” Lexa huffed, not looking forward to the debrief with her mentor and now Master Assassin. “Ever since the death of Grandmaster de la Serre, they have gotten way too cocky. I don’t know what their problem with Brissot is, but it’s not the first time they interfere with one of our missions, and it won’t be the last.”</p><p>“I know,” the tall blonde replied grimly.</p><p>They had lost many comrades to the endless war with the Templar Rite, more so in the last two years following the death of the Templar Grandmaster and Arno’s resignation. The two men had managed to come to an understanding, a truce some might say, and things had been peaceful for a few years. But ever since both were replaced, the war was raging again between the two factions. More than one Assassin disappeared while on a mission, no sign or body left for the Brotherhood to burn. More concerning even, the very few who had been spotted since seemed to have defected and had mercilessly attacked their former comrades, leaving the Assassins no other choice but to put them down. The situation was growing direr and weighed heavily on the hideout’s atmosphere.</p><p>Once the two friends were back safely under the <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, the metallic gate closing behind them with a clang, Lexa sensed the curious looks and whispers that followed her all the way into the main hall. She wanted to turn around and let them know that yes, she had been missing and now was back, but before she could, a baritone voice rose from the top of the stairs.</p><p>“Alexandria, a word.”</p><p><em>So much for a warm welcome</em>, she thought as she climbed the marble steps quickly and entered Titus’s private quarters. Time had not been so kind to her mentor, his wavy dark brown hair replaced by a bald head and deep wrinkles now covering his forehead and the corner of his eyes. And yet, despite being well into his 40s, she knew that he was still a formidable warrior who kept up with his training on a regular basis.</p><p>Not wasting a moment, Lexa reported what had happened to her since meeting Brissot, including all the details she could remember about the attack while making sure to stick to facts. If there was one thing the man hated, it was to hear about emotions. They were a weakness that got Assassins killed, as he repeated to all the recruits like a mantra. She glossed over her time with Clarke as much as she could, but the deep brown eyes seemed to bore into her soul as he asked, “Will she be an issue? She saw your weapons and clothes and might tell someone about it. I can send someone to silence her.”</p><p>“No!” Lexa shouted, cursing herself for her emotional reaction that would surely increase her mentor’s suspicion, before continuing with a poised voice. “With all due respect, Master, she saved my life, when most would have left me to die. She could have called the guards and reported me when she found my weapons; but instead, she brought me to her house and healed me. And she is a civilian, an innocent. Isn’t it our sacred mission to protect those who can’t protect themselves?”</p><p>“Very well,” the man replied with pursed lips. “We will let her be. Make sure to stay away from that area, we don’t want her to learn more about us. Am I making myself clear?”</p><p>“Yes, Master,” Lexa bowed slightly before taking the waved hand that followed as her cue to leave.</p><p>Once she was outside the stuffy room, she let out a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. For all the affection and gratitude that she had for the man, his increasing paranoia and rigidity grated on her nerves at times. According to him, no one outside of the Brotherhood could be trusted, and even then, one should be wary of potential backstabbing. The relationship with their historical allies, the thieves, mercenaries, and prostitutes suffered from his narrow view, and that, combined with the increased pressure exerted by the Templars, eroded the morale.</p><p>The brunette knew that the man meant well and wanted to protect his charges, but she missed the former Master Assassin, Arno Dorian. His sudden departure had left a hole in the Parisian branch of the Brotherhood and big shoes to fill. Titus, as the oldest and most experienced member of the council, had been an obvious choice. Unfortunately, and it wasn’t much of a secret, the man might be a great teacher and tactician, but he wasn’t a natural leader. Lexa could only hope that he would see reason and let go of his constant suspicions. They needed allies, and in her heart, she had a feeling that the blonde physician could be an asset if given the chance.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bien, Mademoiselle = Very well, Miss</p><p>Grandmaster de la Serre = the former Grandmaster of the Templar; he’s also a character from Assassin’s Creed Unity</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. March 1788 (Part 4)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Notes: I am using the UK flooring system, which is also the one used in France. So we have the ground floor at street level, and then the 1st floor is one floor above ground, etc. This is an endless source of misunderstandings between my wife (who uses the US system) and me!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few days later, Lexa exited the hideout under the pretense of gathering information in the streets of Paris. Titus had ordered her to remain in her room so she could heal — which had sounded very much like punishment at the time — and after 72 hours she had begun to hope the Templars would attack their lair just so she could leave her bed. The day her former mentor finally deemed her ready to step out again, she was gone in the blink of an eye.</p><p>After taking long breaths of fresh air — as fresh as Paris could be considering the lack of sewage treatment — and admiring the sky for a moment, the brunette pondered over what she ought to do with her newly regained freedom. It was too soon to visit Clarke and have her remove the stitches, though her wound had already healed better than she would have expected it to. Besides, Titus had made his feelings regarding the blonde angel pretty clear, and Lexa wasn’t ready to defy him yet.</p><p>In the end, she decided to explore the area near the <em>île Saint-Louis</em> and see if anything caught her eyes and ears. When Assassins weren’t busy with official missions, they could often be found walking among the shadows and oblivious crowds, gathering secrets and rumors and helping those in need. After all, the Brotherhood survived on the generous donations of some patrons, as well as on the rewards its members gathered upon completion of their missions. Though some were of great importance and came from public figures, the majority originated in fact from the populace and were traditionally assigned to the younger recruits. Contrary to what their name hinted at, the Assassins were less often tasked with killing people than with delivering secret letters, retrieving stolen goods, beating up a bully, and stealing important documents. Not that Lexa minded much. These missions might seem menial to some of her ambitious comrades, but she prided herself on having a perfect completion rate. She could still remember the time she had spent on the streets, and she made sure to always help the poorer souls who needed a hand, even when they couldn’t reward her for it.</p><p>As fate would have it, she had barely walked for five minutes that a prostitute called her over on the <em>quay des Ormes</em> and they stepped into the less crowded nearby street called <em>rue du Figuier</em>. According to the legend, it earned its name after an incident during which the queen Marguerite de Valois had a fig tree cut there because it blocked the entrance to her private hotel. Once they were certain no one could overhear them, the fille de joie explained that she was being harassed by a customer. The man, a draper who lived a few streets away, refused to pay her a fair wage and demanded that she satisfied him for free. It was hardly a mission worthy of her skills, but Lexa agreed to help the woman in exchange for some information on the Templars' latest schemes.</p><p>Finding the man, named Pierre Dujardin, was child’s play and took Lexa less than 30 minutes. As mentioned by the prostitute, he had a store <em>rue Saint-Séverin</em>, just south of Notre-Dame. When she asked the hand where she could find the man, he told her that the draper was in his workshop upstairs and that she would have to come back later if she wished to speak to him. After thanking the boy, she exited the shop and looked around for an entry point. Climbing the facade in broad daylight would attract too much attention and wasn’t recommended with her wound. Noticing the apparently empty adjoining house, she quickly picked the lock and made her way to the second floor. One of the bedrooms overlooked the street, and its balcony was close to the one from the store.</p><p>Lexa opened the window and, after throwing a smoke bomb to one end of the street to create a distraction, she jumped over the balustrade and onto the other balcony. The window there was close, but a firm kick opened it for her, and she entered. The room was larger than expected, with several tables around covered in fabrics of various colors. The smell of the dye still present on the new rolls made it stuffy, and the young Assassin’s nose crinkled at the overwhelming mix of turmeric, vinegar, and cabbage. Her target, who had gasped at the unexpected entrance, provided her with a welcome distraction from the unpleasant feeling, and she approached him with resolute strides before he could escape or call for help.</p><p>The man was of average height, his dark hair mixed with white around temples and receding at the top of the skull. His face, marred with traces of smallpox, sported an aquiline nose and sunken brown eyes that stared at the hooded figure in confusion. Once she was close enough, the brunette punched him in the gut, making him double over, before her knee connected with his nose in a loud crack. Dujardin fell heavily on his back, his face covered in blood, and his large hands holding it while he groaned.</p><p>“This is from Alice of <em>quay des Ormes</em>,” Lexa announced in a low, threatening voice. “You will never seek her again. You will never approach her or speak to her again. Because if you do, I will come back and break far more than your nose. Do you understand?”</p><p>The man kept silent, but he nodded in response, terrified by the strange woman who had overpowered him so easily. Satisfied, Lexa returned to the window and readied herself for another jump when the room’s door suddenly opened. The hand, whom she had talked to earlier, took in the scene with a gasp. His master was lying on the floor, blood on his face and his nose at a weird angle, and a dark figure loomed by the only other opening. Mustering all his courage, he yelled for help, forcing Lexa to flee faster than anticipated.</p><p>In an attempt to avoid more trouble, should the entrance of the house she had entered from be surrounded by guards and onlookers, the young Assassin pulled herself onto the roof instead of going into the bedroom. There, she took off, jumping from house to house until she was far enough from the draper’s store that she believed it was safe to stop. The effort wasn’t greater than what she had done a hundred times before, but in her precipitation, she seemed to have reopened her wound, as a trickle of blood was seeping through her shirt once again. It didn’t appear too serious, probably one stitch that had popped, but it made Lexa sighed with annoyance. If she returned to the hideout and Titus heard of it, she would probably be confined to her room for another week to heal fully, and the thought made her shudder. She could attempt to fix it herself, but she had never been the most gifted healer and might make things worse. Which left her with only one solution: find a healer. Coincidentally, in her mad escape from <em>rue Saint-Séverin</em>, she had chosen to go west without thinking much of it and now found herself only a couple of streets away from <em>rue du Four</em>. The fact that there resided a talented physician who was already familiar with the brunette’s wound had to be a sign of fate.            </p><p>After a quick look left and right to make sure no other Assassin was lurking around and would report her to Titus, she carried on towards the blonde’s house. Once there, after making sure Clarke was home and seemed to be alone, she lowered herself onto the balcony and knocked on the first floor’s window. Despite the glass separating them, she clearly heard the physician gasp at the noise. More surprising, she noticed the fine blade in the woman’s left hand when she made her way to the window. But after all, Clarke lived alone and she certainly wasn’t expecting any visitors coming from the roof. As soon as she recognized Lexa, the blonde put the weapon aside and opened the window with a smile.</p><p>“Lexa! What are you doing here? I was not expecting you for another couple of days,” she started gently, before frowning. “Is everything all right? Did you get injured?”</p><p>“Good afternoon Clarke. Please, do not worry. I require your assistance once more, but it is nothing too concerning. I seem to have popped a stitch, and my wound is bleeding again.”</p><p>The younger woman silently ushered Lexa inside and made her sit on the bed. Both of them turned a little red when the brunette was forced to remove her coat and shirt, Clarke turning away to offer her some privacy. Once she was left in her bindings, the blonde kneeled by her side to inspect the injury.</p><p>“Indeed, one stitch broke, which explains the blood. As the rest of the wound healed well, I do not think you need a new one. I will simply cover it with a bandage to stop the bleeding, and it should suffice. You will have to change it twice a day until it has scarred.”</p><p>And without another word, the physician left the room to gather what she needed before returning a moment later with a clean cloth and some water. After wiping away the red liquid, which made Lexa shiver when soft fingers grazed her skin, the blonde tied the cloth around her waist and let her put her shirt back on.</p><p>“So, do you want to tell me what adventure you found yourself in this time that ruined my beautiful work?” Clarke asked with a serious voice, although the smirk on her face betrayed her.</p><p>“A lady needed assistance,” Lexa replied with a shrug. “A man refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. I had to pay him a visit and make sure he would not bother her again.”</p><p>“Sounds like quite the tell. Lexa, mercenary and rescuer of damsels in distress,” the blonde teased her before asking, “And what of me? Would you come to rescue me if I ever needed help?”</p><p>“Without a second thought. You saved my life, Clarke, I am in your debt. Should you need it, my sword is yours. Although I doubt you will ever find yourself in a similar situation.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Well…” the brunette replied, cursing herself for bringing the topic up. Prostitutes and some other of Lexa’s contacts were hardly an appropriate subject of conversation with a respectable woman. But then, for all her youth and wealth, the blonde was no ordinary maiden either, living alone as she was. Trusting her guts, she continued, “The woman in question is a lady of the night. A former customer was harassing her and refusing to pay.”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” the blonde replied, surprised but not horrified to hear of Lexa’s acquaintance. “And how did you reinjure yourself then? Did he put up a fight?”</p><p>“Of course not,” the Assassin rolled her eyes, before smiling apologetically at her own boasting. “That part went without a hitch. But then, his young hand came in before I could escape, and I was forced to flee through the rooftops. I must have popped the stitch when I pulled myself up from the window.”</p><p>“And then you thought it wise to carry on, jumping like a mountain goat, and to enter through my window?” Clarke asked with her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow raised scoldingly. “Truly, Lexa, what am I going to do with you?”</p><p>The brunette had a few suggestions, but she didn’t dare to voice any of them out loud, lest she’d be too forward and offend the beautiful blonde. Instead, she opted for a smoother yet no less embarrassing approach.</p><p>“Maybe I just wanted to have an excuse to see you again.”</p><p>The smile on Clarke’s face confirmed that it had been the right choice, and Lexa fist-pumped internally. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the reaction of this one person, still pretty much a stranger, impacted her so much. But she decided there and then that it didn’t matter; she would do everything in her power to see that bright smile again.</p><p>“You don’t need an excuse to visit me, Lexa, especially one that requires you to spill your own blood,” the physician replied with a wink that made the brunette’s stomach flutter. Titus was going to drown her in the Seine if he found out, and she couldn’t care less. She would have to see the blonde angel again.  </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. March to end of May 1788</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following few months saw the relationship between the young Assassin and the 17-year-old blonde deepen enough to be worthy of the name “friendship” if nothing else. Despite the banter they loved to indulge in, neither of them had tried to take things further yet. Lexa had made her preference for women clear during their first meeting, but Clarke had yet to confirm which gender, if any, she would rather lie with, and the brunette was too much of a gentlewoman to question her.</p><p>Instead, they spent countless hours discussing various topics and strolling the Parisian streets, away from the Assassins’ hideout. The brunette knew that she was taking a risk by spending time with the blonde after Titus had expressly ordered her to keep her distance. But, for once, she wanted to have something that belonged only to her. Something she didn’t have to share with her comrades and friends. And this human connection, this link to the real world, made her feel normal for the first time in 10 years. The secret she was forced to keep, about who she was and what she did weighed heavily on her conscience, and on occasions came in the way of the conversation, but Clarke seemed to have understood that there were things Lexa couldn’t share with her, as she never insisted.</p><p>The young physician was happy to show her a different side of the streets she had grown to know, pointing out interesting buildings and showing her the peaceful side of the city the Assassin had never paid attention to. Where Lexa was used to violence, blood, and shadows, the blonde was light, delicacy, and beauty. They shared some patisseries, and Lexa had to bite her lips to stiffen a moan of pleasure when Clarke gave her some <em>madeleines</em>. Based on the way the blue eyes darkened, however, she seemed to have picked up on the brunette’s reaction.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Lexa’s favorite memory of her time with the younger woman would be the afternoon they spent on the hill of Montmartre, just outside the limits of the Right Bank of Paris. Its 130 m high hill offered a breathtaking view of the capital, one that Clarke adored and had painted several times already. That day, the blonde spent two hours sketching while the brunette admired the sight and stole glances at her companion.</p><p>Of course, things weren’t always so idyllic. Lexa wasn’t free of responsibilities and often found herself busy with missions of various degrees of difficulty. The simple ones she could usually complete within the same day, but she sometimes had to travel to neighboring cities to take care of business for the Brotherhood. During those trips away from the capital, or when Titus had her running around so much that she couldn’t find the time to visit the blonde, she found herself missing her new friend deeply.</p><p>And there was also the question of her injuries. During the two months that followed their first encounter, Lexa got hurt twice while on a mission. The first time, she had been tasked with killing a captain of the guards in Chartres, a city located about 100 km south-west of Paris. The man was a brute, abusing his authority and taking advantage of his position to harass the local population. Instead of collecting the official amount of grain and coins for the royal tax, he forced the farmers and merchants to give him an extra percentage that left them almost unable to feed themselves and their families. Desperate, the Chartrains had contacted the Brotherhood and asked for help. Lexa had taken great pleasure in thrusting her hidden blade into the greedy man’s neck, ending his reign of terror. However, complications arose as she made her escape. Quint, a fellow Assassin, was supposed to take care of the sentinels, but he had missed one. When Lexa went to climb over the wall, the soldier surprised her by jumping out of the shadows, and he managed to inflict a shallow cut on her forearm before she killed him. Luckily for her, Lincoln, who was also part of the mission, was a good healer, and he patched her up before they returned to Paris. The second time, however, was much more serious.</p><p>Titus had sent the brunette on the Left Bank, in <em>Jardin du Luxembourg</em>, to talk to a contact who had some information regarding the Parisian Rite and their presumed new Grandmaster, Jacops-Hamoir, de la Serre’s former right hand. Unfortunately, the meeting turned out to be an ambush that nearly cost Lexa her life. The brunette was meant to meet the man by a coppice, away from the entrance of the garden, which the Comte de Provence, future Louis XVIII, had sold in 1780 for real estate development. As she was apparently the first to arrive, she took position and observed her surroundings with attention. On that late afternoon of May, the weather was warm and dry, making her shirt stick to her skin under her summer coat. Several men and women were strolling around the park, their hats and dresses moving slightly with the breeze.</p><p>Keeping her back to the trees had been a mistake, but the crack of a stick warned her of the threat just in time. As she spun around, her hidden blade deviated the knife aimed at her chest. In front of her, a tall masked man stood, all draped in black, his mouth contorted in an angry grimace at his failed attempt. Lexa couldn’t make out his features, but at his height and moves, she recognized the masked figure that had injured her months before, on the day she had protected Brissot. She didn’t have time to wonder anyway, as the man leaped forward once more, slashing his blade in a large arc that would have sliced her throat if she hadn’t stepped back. Her opponent was clearly well trained, but she was no amateur either. They exchanged a few blows, nonthreatening cuts appearing on their arms, when the young Assassin suddenly gained the advantage. With a well-timed kick in the shin, she surprised her adversary and managed to cut his face. The wound wasn’t deep enough to hinder him, but his mask fell, revealing his features and part of his short red hair. The man was fairly handsome, with a straight nose and light freckles covering most of his face, despite the hatred that shone in his blue eyes. Perked up by her success, the brunette launched a series of attacks and feints that ended with her opponent panting as he held his injured side. As she moved to finish him, a male voice coming from the trees surprised her.</p><p>“Carl, duck!”</p><p>Pain registered in her arm before she even heard the gunshot or noticed that her adversary had thrown himself on the ground. With a grunt, she grabbed a smoke bomb from under her coat and flung it near the man’s legs. Though Assassins trained with both hands, the right was her dominant side and the one sporting her hidden blade. Continuing the fight against two men with only her left hand would be suicide. Hence, taking advantage of the cover provided by the explosive device, Lexa retreated before the shooter could aim at her again and disappeared into the nearby streets.</p><p>The bullet had embedded itself in the deltoid of her right arm, making any move torture. As far as she could tell, the wound wasn’t life-threatening, but she needed the help of a good physician or she might lose mobility in that limb. A couple of Assassins were trained to administer first aid, but since Nyko, their former doctor, had relocated to Orleans to follow his lover, the hideout lacked a talented healer. Not trusting anyone else, Lexa decided to visit her favorite physician once more, and once she was certain the two men weren’t after her, she headed for <em>rue du Four</em>.</p><p>The brunette knocked on the wooden door she had come to know well, and less than a minute later, she was let in by a concerned Clarke. Lexa could tell that the blonde had many questions, but her wound took precedence, and the Assassin was left in her bindings before she could protest. Clarke spent a long time fussing over the wound, making sure not to damage the muscle further. She began by removing the piece of metal with flat hemostats, and Lexa had to bite her lips to stifle a cry. Once the blonde was positive she had removed it all, she poured some wine over the brunette’s arm and stitched it close with great care. As Clarke was entirely focused on her work, her tongue sticking out, and Lexa had her eyes closed to hold her tears, neither of them noticed the shadow that had found its way inside the house from the window of the first floor.</p><p>“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all this time?” a voice eventually cut the silence, making both women jump. Good thing the person had waited for them to be finished with their task; otherwise Lexa would probably have ended up with a much more serious injury, seeing how Clarke jerked aside in surprise.</p><p>“Anya?! What are you doing here?” Lexa asked once she had recovered from her mini heart attack.</p><p>“I could ask you the same question,” her friend replied sternly, before answering. “The body of our informant was found in the river not long ago. I went to warn you, but I was too late. You were already running away from the park when I saw you, and since you weren’t returning to our lair, I followed you. You must have been rather out of it since you didn’t notice. Now, can you explain to me what you are doing here, clearly disobeying your orders?”</p><p>“Anya, meet Clarke, the physician who saved my life in March. Clarke, this is Anya, my oldest friend and a frequent pain in my backside,” Lexa sighed, knowing that she was in for a world of trouble. If Anya decided to rat her out to Titus, there was no telling what he might do. Not that she feared for her life, but she didn’t want to put the blonde in danger more than she already had.</p><p>“It is nice to meet you, Anya,” the younger woman said with a tense smile, holding her hand out. When the taller blonde ignored it, she valiantly continued, “Is it common for you and all of your friends to enter through the windows? I have a perfectly working door you know.”</p><p>“Safer that way,” the older Assassin shrugged. “I had to make sure you weren’t hurting Lexa or holding her against her will.”</p><p>“I can assure you, any pain I caused her was involuntary and only so I could treat her injury. I am not sure what you expected, but I am a physician, and I have come to consider Lexa a friend.”</p><p>The brunette blushed at the statement, and she pinched her thigh to stop herself from smiling like an idiot lest Anya would never let her live it down. As the atmosphere wasn’t getting any lighter, and she had taken advantage of Clarke’s hospitality long enough, she stood and gathered her clothes. She couldn’t move her right arm without pulling at the freshly applied stitches, she kept it tight against her chest and pulled her shirt and coat over it. After thanking the blonde for helping her, she pushed Anya out of the house, and they headed for the Brotherhood’s hideout.</p><p>“I’m not sure what you’re doing,” Anya started as they strode down the Parisian streets, “but this won’t end well. She seems all right, I give you that, but she isn’t one of us. If Titus hears of this, you know he’ll want to have her silenced.”</p><p>“Anya, please,” Lexa said as she stopped to stare at her best friend, her sister, with her deep green eyes showing more emotions than she would have liked. “She saved my life, I trust her. She is a good person, a friend. Not to mention the fact that she is a great physician, even better than Lincoln and Luna.”</p><p>“Relax, Lex. I won’t tell Titus about this. As I said, she seems all right, and she did a good job healing you before. I’m just trying to warn you. She isn’t part of our world, and if you continue to see her, you will eventually put her in danger. You’re lucky I’m the one who was following you today and not the Templars. What would have happened to her otherwise, hmm?”</p><p>“I know, An,” Lexa admitted as her ears grew redder. “I don’t want to put her in danger. It’s just that she makes me feel…”</p><p>“Human?”</p><p>“Yes,” the brunette acquiesced, happy to see that her friend could somewhat understand what she was going through.</p><p>“I get it, Lex. I do, really. But you’re being selfish and not thinking clearly. How will you feel if something happens to her because of you? I don’t want to see you hurt.”</p><p>“I know. Thank you, Anya. I—you’re right, I know you’re right, and I should stop seeing her before she ends up with a target on her back by my fault. The Templars are growing more dangerous, today proved it, and I can’t be involved with her. But it’s not easy.”</p><p>“Doing the right thing never is,” her friend replied gravely as she put a hand on the brunette’s unharmed shoulder and squeezed it gently, reminding her that, despite everything, she wasn’t alone.  </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes:<br/>Although Montmartre is now part of Paris, it wasn’t the case until 1860, when it was annexed along with other communities.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. June 1788</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following three weeks were a new kind of slow torture for the young Assassin. After her conversation with Anya, Lexa had been forced to admit to herself that she was being selfish. Her relationship with the blonde had become a ray of light and hope in the darkness that usually surrounded her life. A beacon of normalcy in an existence so full of blood, intrigues, and fighting that Lexa had almost forgotten what the rest of her fellow citizens saw as usual. Sadly, the opposite could be said for Clarke. By associating with the brunette, she was at risk of being dragged into danger. Lexa had been training for the past 10 years and could take care of herself. But the young blonde had lived a very ordinary existence, despite her current living situation, for 17 years. If the Templars were to discover the connection between them, Clarke would make an easy target.</p><p>This was why the 18-year-old, who would be turning 19 in July, had forbidden herself from meeting up with her beloved angel ever again. At first, she refused to go anywhere near <em>rue du Four</em> and gave the street a wide berth every time one of her missions sent her in that neighborhood. But after two weeks, the brunette was forced to accept that her strategy wasn’t working. She kept thinking about the blonde all day long and dreamed of her at night, so much in fact that she now sported deep dark circles under her eyes that had nothing to do with her warpaint. Telling herself that she couldn’t continue in this way, lest her distraction got her killed, she decided to change her approach. She finally allowed herself to see Clarke, but only from afar, perched on the nearby rooftops or hidden in the shadows of the street.</p><p>Another week flew by, and Lexa felt both better and worse at the same time. It was a cruel punishment to be forced to stay away from her friend, a woman she had become very fond of. And yet, she took comfort in the knowledge that Clarke remained safe and seemed to be doing fine. When she wasn’t at home, presumably studying medicine or painting, the blonde strolled around the Parisian streets, her notebook and pencils never far away. Lexa even noticed that the younger woman would, on occasions, inspect the nearby rooftops with insistence, as if looking for the Assassin in hopes to see her. The observation warmed the brunette’s heart, as it meant that Clarke missed her too; though she blamed herself for paining the physician.</p><p>The 19<sup>th</sup> of June, a Thursday, started like any other weekday. The Parisians went to work, as usual, the women could be seen cleaning, washing clothes, or buying some bread and, for the luckiest, a bit of meat. As the Brotherhood feared some unrest due to the current political tensions, Titus had deployed many Assassins all around the city to keep an eye on things. On the Left Bank, Lexa was observing the streets from one of the rooftops of <em>rue de Vaugirard</em>, near the <em>Jardin du Luxembourg</em>, the warm weather making her sweat lightly under her coat. Not for the first time, she wished the Assassins would figure a way to hide their identities that didn’t require wearing a long, hooded coat in summer. How her comrades living in more southern countries could bear it was beyond her.</p><p>Suddenly, the atmosphere tensed below her feet. Some guards had shoved an old lady who was taking too long to stand aside and let them pass and triggered the ire of the onlookers. Paris and some other main cities had been a powder keg for days, and the entitlement of the soldiers seemed to have been the spark everyone was waiting for. The verbal conflict turned almost immediately into a fist-fight, and if not for the swords and pistols they carried, the guards would probably have been lynched by the crowd. As it happened, they barely managed to escape with their lives and ran away to warn the closest garrison of the threat. High on their modest success, many civilians gathered whatever they could use as a weapon — a pitchfork, a staff, a kitchen knife — and formed a dangerous mass that began walking towards the closest symbol of the monarchy they could think of: the <em>Palais du Luxembourg</em>.</p><p>Lexa was under strict instructions to observe only, and not to interfere unless the life of one of her comrades was in danger. Careful to remain invisible, she followed the angry mob east along <em>rue de Vaugirard</em>, trying not to think about what would happen once they met a larger, better-prepared group of soldiers armed with rifles and bayonets. As she was thinking, a mop of blonde hair emerging from one of the sides of the street caught her attention. Clarke.</p><p>Before she could formulate some sort of plan, or wonder how Titus would react if he could see her, Lexa was climbing down the facade of the house she had been on. It wasn’t as discreet as she would normally behave, but time was of the essence in a situation as volatile as this one, and the crowd’s attention was focused towards the garden on the right anyway. When the brunette’s boots touched the cobblestones, she ran as fast as she could against the flow, pushing people to clear a path for herself. She couldn’t see the blond hair which had been submerged by the mass of heads and disparate collection of weapons brandished around, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest.    </p><p>Two houses away from where she had landed, she finally found the young physician she had been looking for, and she sighed with relief. Clarke looked slightly disheveled, leaning against the wall of a house to let the angry people pass. It was a good thing that she wasn’t wearing too fancy clothes or jewelry, as she would certainly have been robbed. Even then, with a simple dress and her art supplies, some men had sensed that she was better off than them and had shoved her aside without any remorse, scattering her sketches on the ground before stepping on them. Now that was reassured the blonde was fine, Lexa should have disappeared among the crowd. She couldn’t help it, though, she remained rooted there until sapphire eyes spotted her, and a raspy, “Lexa?” made itself heard throughout the surrounding noise.</p><p>“Clarke,” the Assassin replied, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the silly smile she could feel coming, “are you all right?”</p><p>“Mostly, yes. My ankle hurts, I think I twisted it when those brutes pushed me.”</p><p>“Please, let me accompany you back to your home. The streets are not safe today,” the brunette insisted as she waved a hand in the direction of the crowd still walking around them.</p><p>“Thank you, Lexa,” the blonde replied with a nod, before placing her left arm around the woman’s shoulders to avoid putting too much weight on her ankle. She spared a quick look at her drawings, all muddy and wet, before sighing. There was nothing to be done to salvage them, she would have to redo them later.</p><p>The journey towards <em>rue du Four</em> was done mostly in silence, both women lost in thoughts. Despite her previous resolution to stay away from Clarke and Titus’s orders not to interfere today, Lexa was glad she could help the blonde. Who knows how she would have made it home otherwise, as she was leaning heavily on the brunette. Once they were inside Clarke’s home, Lexa busied herself with making some tea for the both of them before taking a seat at the table, across from the blonde.</p><p>“You have been avoiding me,” Clarke stated, not one to beat around the bush. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Lexa could have sworn she saw disappointment and sadness in the blue orbs that were staring at her.</p><p>“I… Yes, I was. I am sorry, I never meant to appear ungrateful, or to hurt your feelings,” the brunette admitted, looking down at her hands to hide her awkwardness.</p><p>“Then why did you? Have I done something to offend you?” the physician asked, her voice quavering slightly at the question, and Lexa jerked her head to respond immediately.</p><p>“No! Of course not. It is simply that my life is complicated, and not fully my own. I have responsibilities and powerful enemies. I—you could be in danger by being seen with me. I was trying to protect you.”</p><p>“Lexa…” Clarke sighed, but her voice seemed warmer than before, making the green eyes raise to look at her. “I understand. I do, really. You told me a little about your life, and I have patched you up more than once, remember? I know that you do not live an ordinary existence and that being a part of it could be dangerous. But shouldn’t it be my choice too? I am not angry at you for wanting to keep me safe, I am because you decided for the both of us without consulting me.”</p><p>The young Assassin had nothing to say to that, and she felt her cheeks turn pinker in shame. No matter how good her intentions were, after everything the blonde had done for her, it was true that she would have deserved at least an explanation for the cold shoulder she had suddenly found herself on the receiving end of. Lexa was pondering how to express her feelings and offer a better apology when she was interrupted by the raspy voice.</p><p>“Besides, if today is any indication, I am perfectly capable of putting myself in danger alone. I have no idea what was happening and where this mob came from, but if you hadn’t been there, it could have been much worse. So, thank you, I am glad you cared enough to intervene.”</p><p>“Of course, I care, Clarke!” Lexa replied a little too fast, making the blonde smirk. “You are ev—my friend. I couldn’t let myself get too close anymore, but that didn’t mean that I just stopped thinking about you.”</p><p>Feeling her blush intensify at the meaning hidden behind her words, the brunette decided to move the conversation to a less personal topic.</p><p>“As for what happened today, there has been a lot of unrest recently following a royal decision to suspend the provincial courts, or <em>parlements</em>, and to create a plenary court that would be charged with ratifying the new laws. My comrades and I feared there would be trouble, which was why I was keeping an eye out.”</p><p>“Why would that change be a bad thing?” the blonde inquired, frowning in confusion.</p><p>“Well, the people trust the <em>parlements</em>. The King suspended them because they refused to register his financial reform and to be intimidated by him. As for the plenary court, its members will be chosen by the king. I am sure you can imagine how their future laws will certainly favor the nobles over the populace,” Lexa explained patiently.</p><p>“I see,” Clarke acquiesced after a moment. “My apologies, politics has never interested me much. My parents might make good money thanks to their jobs, but they do not involve themselves with these matters, and so I never did either.”</p><p>“No apologies necessary. It is refreshing for me to know someone who can talk about things other than plots and politics,” Lexa waved her off with a smile, before inquiring, “if you do not mind me asking, what does your father do? You already mentioned that your mother is a physician.”</p><p>At the silence that greeted her question, Lexa remembered how weird the younger woman had become every time the topic of her family had come up during the brunette’s first stay with her. She was about to apologize for her curiosity and change the subject when, to her surprise, Clarke moved to stand by the window and spoke.</p><p>“My mother comes from a bourgeois family that, thankfully, proved to be a little more open-minded than usual. When she showed promises, they allowed her to train as a physician, even though it is uncommon for our gender. In turn, she passed on her knowledge to me as soon as I could comprehend it. She treats all sorts of people, rich or poor without distinction. As for my father…”</p><p>After a pregnant pause, she continued. “He was an inventor of sorts. Always creating new devices and designs. A real genius, people would say. We used to be very close he and I. I was his spoiled little princess, but he was also my best friend. He… he passed away in an accident, a couple of years ago.”</p><p>“I am sorry for your loss, Clarke,” Lexa said empathically, before standing too and taking the blonde’s hand gently into hers when tears began to roll down the round face.</p><p>She was a little surprised but didn’t push back when the physician spun around and buried her face into her neck. Lexa could feel the wetness that seeped through her shirt, and she didn’t care. Instead, she lifted her free hand, the other still in Clarke’s, and rubbed her back as gently as she could.</p><p>When Lexa left the house on <em>rue du Four</em> that evening, after making sure that the blonde was feeling better and making her promise she would stay off her injured ankle, the Assassin was giddier than she had been in three weeks. Despite the heavy conversation, her relationship with Clarke was back to normal, and she knew she wouldn’t have the heart to distance herself again. She would simply have to make sure to protect her friend better.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes: although the description of the riot, how it started and where the crowd headed comes from my imagination, there truly were riots in Paris on June 19th, as well as in Toulouse and Rennes, for the political reason explained in this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. September 1788</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following two months, the atmosphere in Paris didn’t ease. A heavy storm in July 1788 destroyed most of the harvest, and the threat of famine led to a higher risk of riots. The people, worried about how they would be able to feed their family, didn’t take too kindly to the lavish parties organized in Versailles by Marie-Antoinette. And in the Brotherhood’s lair, it wasn’t much better or more festive. The interferences from the Rite were growing more frequent, their attacks more brazen, and the Assassins were on edge. Though they had managed to find a few recruits, their ranks were emptier than they had been two years before.</p><p>Lexa continued to visit her blonde angel as often as she could without raising suspicions, and she always made a detour in case Titus had her followed. The only other person who knew about this was Anya, as the brunette couldn’t imagine lying to her oldest friend. The almond-eyed Assassin made no mystery of what she thought of this dalliance, but she nonetheless agreed to keep it a secret and cover for Lexa should the need arise. The younger woman hoped that, in time, the two most important persons in her life would become friends, but according to Anya, it would only happen <em>quand</em> <em>les poules auront des dents</em> — when the hens will have teeth.</p><p>On a cool afternoon of mid-September, Lexa was striding towards <em>rue du Four</em>, after following the Seine and turning left on <em>rue des Saints-Pères</em>. She and Clarke had arranged to meet at around six and have supper together once Charlotte was gone. The brunette was almost at the blonde’s house when cries caught her attention, seemingly coming from behind the door she was about to knock on. Not wasting a second to look through the window of the ground floor, she flung the door open, her hidden blade out and ready for a fight.</p><p>The living room was in disarray, with chairs knocked over and lying on the floor, the table pushed aside, and the remains of a broken plate near the kitchen. Clarke was standing in a corner of the room, trapped against the walls, with a scared look on her face as an ominous masked figure held her by the throat. The man, for he seemed tall and broad under his navy-blue clothes, appeared a little shorter than the one Lexa had fought twice already, but their clothing was similar enough that she immediately thought, <em>Templar</em>.</p><p>At the sound of the Assassin entering the house, he spun around, one of his hands still pressed against the pale throat of the physician. Whatever his goal had been, he didn’t seem to want to fight, as he let go almost right away when he saw Lexa and jumped through the closest window in a clatter of broken glass. The brunette was about to follow him when a half-cried, “Lexa”, stopped her dead in her tracks. She barely had time to move her arm to the side that Clarke had thrown herself against her, arms tightly wrapped against her neck, nearly impaling herself on the hidden blade in the process.</p><p>“Thank you,” the blonde stuttered. “I was so scared!”</p><p>“Shh, it’s OK. You’re safe now,” the Assassin replied, rubbing the shaking back with gentle moves before asking, “Did he say anything to you? Why he was here, or what he wanted?”</p><p>“He…,” Clarke began, biting her underlip for a moment, seemingly unsure if she should speak. When Lexa prompted her with a caress on the arm, she continued with a low voice, “he asked where my friend was, the assassin. I told him I didn’t know who he was talking about, and that is when he cornered me and grabbed my throat in anger.”</p><p>At that moment, Lexa’s rage at the thought of the blonde being threatened and hurt was only exceeded by the guilt she felt at knowing she was the one reason for it. Despite Anya’s warnings and her own fears, she had chosen to continue to meet the young physician regularly, knowingly putting her in danger with her selfishness. She didn’t dare to imagine what could have happened if she hadn’t made it on time, lest she would lose her composure.</p><p>“I am so sorry, Clarke,” she said in a quavering voice, not daring to look at the sapphire orbs that she adored. She certainly didn’t deserve to see their beauty, and couldn’t stomach the anger and accusation she feared to find in them at her confession. “He attacked you because he was looking for me. I should never have gotten close to you.”</p><p>“What are you talking about, Lexa? Why would he call you an assassin? I know you; you might work as a mercenary, but you are not a killer. Are you?”</p><p>And there, was the moment Lexa felt her heart break in her chest. That small hesitation, the hint of doubt and fear in the blonde’s voice tearing at her more deeply than any knife ever could. She had kept her identity and mission a secret from Clarke as per the Brotherhood’s rules, but if she was being honest, she had also done it to protect herself. The physician didn’t judge her for selling her sword for money, hanging out with prostitutes, and beating up disgusting men, but killing someone, no matter how much they deserved it, was a different matter entirely. Putting on a brave face despite her internal turmoil, Lexa replied, “I promise I will explain everything. But for now, you cannot stay here, it is not safe and your attacker might come back. Will you come with me, please?”</p><p>The blonde seemed to hesitate for a minute, but eventually, she nodded and went upstairs to gather some of her things. Once she had put enough clothes for a few days in a large bag and rolled her most precious paintings, the two of them left the house and made their way to the Brotherhood’s lair in silence.</p><p>Upon their arrival under <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, they were greeted with curiosity and whispers. Clarke was looking left and right, a frown visible on her forehead as she seemed to wonder where she was and why the brunette lived with so many people in such a strange place. Lexa was about to show her to one of their guest rooms when Titus’s voice echoed around the hall, “Alexandria! A word.” With a grimace, she passed the bag she had been carrying to Anya, begging her with her eyes to be kind to Clarke, and followed her mentor into his study.</p><p>“What is the meaning of this?” the bald man questioned in a booming, angry voice. “I thought I made myself clear before; you were not supposed to see that girl again.”</p><p>“That girl saved my life!” Lexa growled, before continuing in a more poised manner. “I apologize, Master, but I trust her. She treated my wounds after the incident in <em>Jardin du Luxembourg</em>, and we met on occasion. I tried to stay away from her, but it is too late now. She was attacked by a Templar earlier; it isn’t safe for her to stay where she was.”</p><p>“Then she should pack her bags and move to a different city,” the man replied sternly. “She isn’t our responsibility and has no business being here, with us. You are putting us all in danger, Lexa. This isn’t like you; you are the most promising of all the Assassins here, a future Master. And yet she is clouding your judgment, making you disobey the rules, putting you on the wrong path. You have to cut ties with her!”</p><p>“With all due respect, Mentor, I think you are wrong. She could be an asset, and she has been trustworthy ever since I met her. She is a talented physician, something we have cruelly lacked ever since Nyko’s departure. And now that the Templars are after her, she is involved in all this. Please, give her a chance, at least until the threat is dealt with.”</p><p>The bald man pinched his lips, anger clear in his deep brown eyes. He wasn’t used to being questioned, especially by Lexa who was the closest thing he had to a daughter. The brunette had obediently followed his orders for years, and the recent change was not to his liking. She did, however, raise a good point, and he wasn’t stubborn and stupid enough to ignore it.</p><p>“Very well,” he conceded after a long pause. “We do need a good doctor. Lincoln and Luna try their best, but we all know that, if he had been here, Nyko would have managed to save more lives than they did.”</p><p>“Make no mistake, though,” he warned the brunette in front of him who was having difficulties hiding her smile at his acceptance, “she will be your responsibility for as long as she is here. If she proves useless, or if I have any doubt regarding her loyalties, the Templars will be the least of her problems. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p>“Yes, Master,” Lexa bowed slightly, before adding, “you won’t regret this, I promise.”</p><p>As the man waved her off, she took her cue and left the room, closing the door behind her. Once outside, she let out a deep exhalation, relieved at the turn of events. Now, she had to convince Clarke that she would be safer here with Lexa and a group of complete strangers. In her giddiness, she refused to think that the beautiful blonde would say no, and made her way to the guest rooms. She expected to find Clarke and Anya in a deep conversation, but to her surprise, the almond-eyed Assassin was leaning against the wall by the door, alone.</p><p>“Clarke is inside,” Anya pointed at the room with her chin, before adding, “I figured it would be better if you explained everything to her yourself. Careful, though, she seems rather confused and pissed to have been kept in the dark. I would tread lightly if I were you.”</p><p>The green-eyed woman gulped and knocked on the door. When a curt, “<em>Entrez</em>”, resonated through the wooden separation, she pushed it in and entered. The room, although it was only ever used by the occasional guest, was well lit and of a reasonable size. One single bed occupied the left side of it, across from a simple table and a chair. There was no window, as they were underground, but a hole in the wall let the air in and the smoke of the candles out. The blonde was sitting on the bed, her bag containing most of her clothes placed by it.</p><p>“Is the room to your liking? I will ask if a wardrobe or a large chest can be brought in so you can put away your belongings. If you would like, we also have a library. You are welcome to borrow the books and read them there or here.”</p><p>Clarke thanked her for the offer and her hospitality, but she didn’t appear too pleased to have her life turned upside down, and had several questions. The young Assassin did her best to answer all of them, making the conversation last well into the evening. Lexa told her how she had lost her parents and survived on the streets for a while until Titus found her and initiated her into the Brotherhood. She explained their creed and missions, glossing over the details of the kills but making sure to emphasize why those people had to die. To her credit, the physician took it much better than Lexa would have expected her to. She seemed engrossed in the conversation and asked for clarifications regarding the Assassins’ history and their relationship with the Templars. The only disbelief she manifested was when she heard of the truce between de la Serre and Arno that had sadly ended two years and a half prior; probably since her own experience with the Parisian Rite was far from positive.</p><p>As dinner time had come and gone by the time the conversation slowed down, Lexa offered to lead the blonde to the common area where the Assassins ate together. To their shared surprise, they had barely made it into the room that Clarke, staring at a short brunette with an open mouth and bulged eyes, exclaimed, “Octavia?”</p><p>The three women shared a meal before retreating to Clarke’s room to discuss and catch up. As fate would have it, Octavia, the younger sister of Clarke’s friend Bellamy, was the newest recruit in the hideout. Tired of always being stuck alone at home, her brother often traveling for work, the recently turned 17-year-old had seen an Assassin during one of their missions and followed them back to the lair. She had almost gotten herself killed by Indra when she had been discovered but the dark-skinned woman, impressed by her natural abilities, had taken her under her wing instead.</p><p>Clarke didn’t seem too pleased to hear that her friend’s sister was now training to become an Assassin, and feared Bellamy’s reaction, but the younger brunette begged her not to tell him yet. She felt like she finally belonged somewhere, and wanted to see if she could pass the initiation before coming clean to her overprotective brother. Reluctantly, the blonde agreed, before bidding them goodnight. The day had been long, and she needed to rest. Knowing that Titus would begin testing the blonde’s abilities the following morning, Lexa agreed, and retired to her room, her heart beating fast in her chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>entrez = enter</p><p>Notes: “quand les poules auront des dents” is a way of saying never, but in a much more illustrated manner</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. December 1788 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Lexa had expected, Titus put Clarke to work — and to the test — the morning following her moving into the hideout. Luckily for both of them, the blonde was a remarkable physician, even though her own mother, whom she visited on occasions, deemed she still needed a lot of training, and her help was making a big difference for the Assassins. She cleaned and stitched wounds, mended broken bones, and lent an ear to anyone who needed some comforting words like she had done it all her life. It took less than a few weeks for the now 18-year-old blonde to become good friends with several members of the Brotherhood, especially Lincoln and Tris. And if Anya continued to keep her distance, she wasn’t vehemently objecting to Clarke’s presence anymore, and Lexa was happy to consider it a win.</p><p>Despite her initial hesitation, the blonde had accepted that she was safer under <em>île Saint-Louis </em>among her new friends, at least until the Templars who were after her could be identified and stopped. She still had to go out from time to time to collect herbs and other necessary elements, and always made sure to wear a red wig to disguise herself when she did, but otherwise, she spent all her nights and most of her days at the lair. The only fly in the ointment, as far as Lexa was concerned, was that due to the lack of privacy, their relationship hadn’t progressed much. Not wanting to irk Titus more than she already had, she had to be mindful not to spend too much time with her favorite blonde, or to be caught sneaking out with her despite how much she wanted to.</p><p>The rest of the year 1788 flew by, between the threat of riots linked to the famine caused by the loss of the summer harvests, and the usual missions assigned to the Assassins. Christmas was closing in when Lexa and Anya were sent out with a difficult task. Several informants had been killed in the recent weeks, prostitutes and mercenaries, but also regular citizens and even a few street children. After many dead ends, their investigation had led them to the Templar responsible, and now it was time for him to pay. <em>Blood must have blood</em>.</p><p>After interrogating several Parisians, they had found out that their target resided on <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em>, near the <em>Place des Victoires</em>. The square sported at its center an equestrian monument in honor of King Louis XIV — which would be destroyed in 1792 and replaced for a time with a wooden pyramid — and Lexa took a moment to admire it before striding towards her destination. She and Anya, after observing the Templar’s house for 30 minutes, agreed that the tall blonde would enter through the window located on the second floor, and Lexa would remain outside and protect their escape. As far as they could tell, the young black-haired man lived alone, and though he seemed fit enough, killing him shouldn’t be too much trouble.</p><p>As planned, the brunette took position across the street as the nearby church’s bells rang 9 o’clock in the evening, hiding on top of a store, while Anya lowered herself from the roof of the Templar’s house and entered through the upper left window. The whole thing shouldn’t have lasted more than 10 minutes, including the necessary time to look at potential documents and gather intelligence on their enemies’ plans, but still, Lexa was surprised to see her friend exit the house less than 2 minutes later, and through the door at that. Not that they never used the main entrances, especially when the streets were crowded and they would be easily spotted breaking a window, but they tended to avoid being seen coming out of a building in which a crime would be reported soon after. When Lexa realized that Anya was clenching her side and appeared paler than usual, she climbed down as fast as she could. After making sure no one was paying too much attention or seemed to be watching the house, she crossed the street and caught the older Assassin before she could fall on her knees.</p><p>Anya was whimpering in pain, her right hand covered in blood, and for an instant, Lexa thought she had been stabbed. Upon closer inspection, however, she noticed the small arrow embedded in her friend’s flank. The wound in itself didn’t look too bad, but the blonde’s skin was already clammy and her breathing was labored, hinting at a far more serious problem: poison.</p><p>“An, hold on. Is he dead? Was he alone?” she asked, having to be sure they were free to leave without the threat of being followed.</p><p>The blonde nodded weakly but didn’t utter a sound, her lips pinched in a visible effort to steady herself and remain conscious. Despite being surprised by the small crossbow the Templar carried on him, she had managed to end his life with a well-aimed knife to the throat. She had barely registered the pain on her side at the time, but she could now feel the darkness that was creeping in front of her eyes, and the heaviness of her limbs. Knowing what it meant, she closed her deep brown eyes, willing herself to keep the tears at bay, and whispered, “My fight is over.”</p><p>Lexa shook her head with so much strength that she heard her neck pop. She refused to give up on the woman she saw as an older sister and pulled two lean arms over her shoulders before lifting the slender body with her back and securing it by placing her own hands under the woman’s thighs. Anya didn’t even have the strength to hold onto the brunette’s neck and was nothing more than dead weight, rendering the process more difficult. And yet the young Assassin soldiered through and, as rapidly as she could with the extra charge, hurried towards the hideout. On a good day, without too many people on the streets, <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em> was about 30 minutes away on foot from the Brotherhood’s lair. Alas, though Lexa knew that she was strong enough to carry Anya all the way, it would take her longer than that, and every minute was precious. Cursing the dark-haired Templar who had refused to accept his death without struggling, and herself for letting the blonde go in instead of her, the brunette ignored her tiring muscles and rushed down the Parisian streets.</p><p>She was about halfway there, crossing <em>rue Saint-Denis</em>, one of the oldest streets of the capital, when she felt a presence on her right. Normally, she would have already drawn her hidden blade and spun around, but with her precious cargo, she didn’t have time for a fight and couldn’t risk Anya being injured further. Instead, she moved a hand to her belt and wrapped it around a smoke bomb, ready to use it as a diversion and flee, when a bass voice stopped her.</p><p>“Lexa? What happened?”</p><p>Lincoln, bless him! The strong man had been patrolling on the rooftops when he had noticed the two women and recognized their clothing despite the darkness. He had climbed down the side of the nearest house with an agility surprising for a man of his stature, and now he was here, in front of a Lexa so tired she could collapse at any second.</p><p>“Poison,” she breathed out, pointing a thumb at Anya. “Hurry.”</p><p>Those two words weren’t much, but they sufficed. The dark-skinned man cradled Anya in his arms at once and took off after Lexa had let him know with a waving hand that she would be fine. Assassins trained for years before going out on missions, and their stamina was far superior to the common men's. And yet, in her haste to carry her friend back to the hideout, the young woman had neglected to pace herself. Once relieved of the extra weight, she leaned against a wall for a few minutes and took deep breaths. When her heart stopped hammering against her ribs so hard that she feared it would break through, she stretched her back and legs twice and forced herself to continue.</p><p>The brunette reached the hideout about 20 minutes later, panting; beads of sweat rolling down her temples and back. Not taking the time to announce herself other than at the metallic gate, she rushed towards the infirmary where she was sure to find Anya. At least, if she was still alive.</p><p>When she pushed the door leading to the medical area of the lair, Lexa was greeted by her sight that, despite its seriousness, made her exhale with relief. Her friend was lying on a bed, pale and unconscious, but the slow rise of her chest showed that she was still breathing. Clarke was moving around her in a dance the brunette couldn’t quite understand but admired nonetheless. The physician was counting Anya’s breaths, measuring her pulse, checking her eyes and tongue, and talking with both Lincoln and Luna. When he noticed Lexa, the muscular man approached her with a grim look on his face.</p><p>“You were right, she was poisoned. We removed the arrow, but without knowing which poison was used, it is difficult to treat it. Do you have any information that could help us?”</p><p>Lexa bit her underlip and shook her head. She hadn’t even entered the house, or witnessed the struggle, how would she know? Maybe she should have gotten in and retrieved another arrow for them to study, but would it really have made a difference? The Rite had recently expanded their scientific knowledge and were using poison more often than they ever had in the past. So far, the Assassins were playing catch up, and more than one good comrade had fallen on the streets, hit by an arrow or a knife covered in red or green substances that made their heart stop and their lungs still despite Luna and Lincoln’s efforts. The 19-year-old could feel her eyes moisten at her powerlessness and at the thought of losing her best friend, and despite her best efforts, a cry, half-sob half-whimper escaped her pouted lips.</p><p>Clarke, who had been so focused on her patient she hadn’t seemed to notice the presence of the brunette, threw her a glance full of pity and understanding, before sighing and returning to her task with renewed motivation. Struck by inspiration, she collected various herbs from the shelves surrounding the room and mixed them in a wooden mortar before crushing them with a pestle and adding some water. Once she seemed satisfied with the consistency and smell of the mixture, she gently lifted Anya’s head and forced the liquid down her throat. The almond-eyed woman sputtered and coughed, but she swallowed most of it. After checking that the container was empty, Clarke placed the older woman’s head back on the pillow with care and wiped her mouth with a cloth to remove the excess of the mixture that had dribbled down her chin.</p><p>For several minutes, nothing happened, and the atmosphere in the infirmary room grew heavy and dark. Clarke continued to measure the supine Assassin’s vitals with a deep frown, making sure she was still alive, and Lexa didn’t dare to get her hopes up in fear of having them crushed in an unkind twist of fate. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity to the brunette, but couldn’t have lasted more than 10 minutes, Anya’s breathing eased, and some colors returned to her sharp face. The physician remained by her side for another couple of hours to make sure that the situation didn’t take a turn for the worse, and was happy to announce at around one in the morning that she was confident the almond-eyed blonde would survive.</p><p>As Titus and a few other high-ranking Assassins had joined them in the infirmary, Lexa stopped herself from jumping at the blonde and kiss her senseless. She couldn’t quite hide the large smile on her face, however, and the sight of it made Clarke grin in return. The young woman had managed an incredible save, and all knew it. Even the bald Master Assassin, despite his grumpiness, was forced to congratulate her. Clarke replied with a modest smile that it had been a lucky guess, as she had remembered reading something about poisons in a book her mother had lent her not long before. Whether it was luck, skill, or a combination of both, Lexa knew that the blonde had finally won over Titus and the rest of the council and the thought made her smile with relief.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. December 1788 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once the excitement surrounding Anya’s survival had dialed down, the three members of the council left the infirmary, ordering Lexa to come with them so they could discuss what had happened. Now that the brunette could breathe again without feeling her lungs being crushed in her chest under the stress of potentially losing her best friend, she followed them into Titus’s office.</p><p>The bald Master Assassin took his regular seat behind the large desk, with Indra at his right and Gustus at his left. The latter was a giant of a man in his 40s, with long black hair braided behind his head and a beard stopping at his sternum. When she had joined the Brotherhood, Lexa had been terrified of the man, whose hands were so large and impressive they could surely have crushed the skull of the little girl. After spending some time with him, however, she had rapidly realized that his stature and strength were no match for his kindness. Gustus grew fond of her in a matter of weeks, and where Titus was always sure to avoid showing emotions to his protege, the giant had no qualms about hugging her when she did something right and comforting her when she was hurt. He was the one who had gifted her with her first hidden blade once she had been initiated, and though she had since been forced to replace it, she kept the broken pieces under her bed like a little treasure.</p><p>Indra fell somewhere between the two men. The stern woman wasn’t as demonstrative as Gustus, and her smiles were a rarity, but she didn’t agree with Titus’s ideas that feelings were weakness, especially when dealing with young recruits. She was a tough and demanding teacher, and yet a fair one, who could be seen at times comforting the Assassins in training and offering advice rather than criticism. Lexa knew that the dark-skinned woman was ecstatic with Octavia’s progress, although she would never outright admit it in fear of inflating the brunette’s already large ego.</p><p>Despite the late hour and her own exhaustion, Lexa did her best to summarize what had happened the day before. She explained how they had found the young Templar thanks to the information given by their allies and some Parisians; retold how they had observed his house for 30 minutes; and said that Anya had entered through a window while she had remained on the lookout across the street. She couldn’t say what had happened inside, though she had her own theory, but she made sure to praise Lincoln for his help in carrying Anya back to the hideout. Upon Indra’s question, she confirmed that, according to the dirty-blond-haired woman, their target was dead. Titus seemed doubtful at first, but Lexa insisted that Anya would never have exited the house without finishing her mission first, no matter the danger, and he conceded. Though several hours had passed since the kill, Titus ordered a small group of Assassins to visit the man’s house, in case there were still documents to be found.</p><p>“But, Master,” Lexa tried to argue, “the Templars will surely have discovered the death of one of their own by now. At best, they will have cleaned the house already and destroyed or taken all documents incriminating them. And at worst, they will have laid a trap there in case we returned. It is a shame that neither Anya nor I could take the time to look for information earlier, but what can we hope to find that is worth risking the lives of some of our own?”</p><p>The brunette knew that, due to her rank, she was taking a risk by criticizing her former mentor’s decision so openly. For now, at least, she was only an Assassin, one of the cogs of the Parisian branch, and she didn’t have the authority to make important decisions or oppose the council. She ought to tread lightly, for Titus could be sensitive when it came to his position and orders, and he didn’t appreciate being questioned. She had already risked his wrath by spending time with Clarke while being forbidden to do so, and even more by bringing her to their lair. The young blonde had more than proved her value since, but angering him further could be a dangerous move.</p><p>And yet, she couldn’t help herself and refused to stay silent when the lives of her comrades were at stake. She would never cower when faced with a difficult mission and would prefer to give her own life rather than send other people to their doom. It was probably the one thing her former mentor had never managed to change in her, despite his best efforts: her empathy and care for her people. The bald man hoped to make her in his image, a cold and emotionless leader who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice a pawn to attain victory. She had learned to take harsh decisions when needed, but her heart remained open behind the mask of coolness she wore; even more so since her meeting with the beautiful blonde.</p><p>Lexa expected Titus to remind her of her place and dismiss her, and she was surprised when Indra broke the tense silence between them. All the members of the hideout knew that the brunette was one of the most talented members they had had in decades and that she would one day be part of the council, if not a Master Assassin herself. Hence, ignoring Titus’s scowl and obvious displeasure at the young woman’s attitude, Indra decided that she should know more about what was happening, taking Gustus’s silence as an agreement.</p><p>“You are not wrong, Lexa,” the dark-skinned woman began in a serious tone, “there is a high probability that this will be a trap. This is why I will be part of the group that will go to <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em>.”</p><p>Before Lexa could argue back, or Titus for that matter, as the bald man didn’t seem pleased to hear of his fellow council member’s decision, she continued. “I suspect that you already came to this conclusion on your own, but we think that a new group of Templars is in town.”</p><p>“Yes, the idea crossed my mind,” the brunette admitted when the older woman paused for a moment, waiting for her reply. “Their technic and weapons have changed radically and suddenly, about a year ago I would say. They used to possess equipment similar to ours, blades, pistols, and some bombs, but now they seem to have access to potent poisons and gas that can knock a grown man out in seconds. I also noticed that they are bolder than before, less worried about being seen by the populace, and much better at hand-to-hand combat.”</p><p>Indra nodded in acquiescence, her small smile showing that she hadn’t been disappointed by Lexa’s analysis. Though Gustus remained quiet, the pride in his eyes wasn’t missed by the brunette either, and it warmed her heart.</p><p>“You are correct, Alexandria,” Titus said as he took over the conversation. “In the past few months, a few people who contacted us because they feared for their lives have been found dead before we could intervene or, worse, have been killed while under our protection. We have lost several comrades, not to mention the handful that have been turned against us. We have no idea who is leading them, or where they came from, but these Templars are more dangerous than before, and they don’t miss their targets. This is why any information that could point towards their identity and the location is of vital importance.”</p><p>“I understand,” Lexa eventually replied, thinking about her own three past encounters with the masked figures. “I would like to volunteer to accompany Indra and the others back to the house on <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em>. I know the setting of the street since I was there only hours ago.”</p><p>“That will not be necessary,” Indra declined, before adding with a kinder voice. “You look exhausted Lexa. We all know the stress Anya’s condition put on you, not to mention the time you spent on your mission and the fact that you carried her back here. Rest and do not worry. We will go well prepared and armed. If it is indeed a trap, we won’t get surprised by it.”</p><p>The brunette wanted to disagree and insist, but the truth was, she could feel the fatigue settling in her bones. The adrenaline that had kept her up for longer than expected was receding, leaving her more tired than ever. In her condition, she would probably be more of a hindrance than a help and was left with no other choice but to obey the veiled order. After making sure to tell Indra all that she could remember about the house and the street surrounding it, she headed towards her room.</p><p>She had washed in the small basin in her room, unbraided her hair, and changed into more comfortable clothing, namely a large shirt and loose pants, when she came to a realization. Between the happiness that had followed Anya’s good prognosis and her discussion with the council, she hadn’t thanked Clarke yet for saving her friend. It was rather late, but she doubted the blonde would already be asleep after all the excitement, and decided to try her luck. Lexa strode down the corridor that separated their respective rooms, and knocked gently on the wooden door, as to be heard but not wake the woman if she was sleeping. As it turned out, her assumption had been correct, and Clarke opened the door almost immediately. The physician had also changed her clothes for a long nightgown that stopped just under her knees and, based on her damp hair, she had refreshed too.</p><p>“Lexa? Come in, please! Is everything all right?”</p><p>“Yes, everything is fine,” the brunette replied as she passed the threshold and stepped aside to let Clarke close the door behind them. It was the first time that they were alone in it ever since the day the blonde had moved into the lair, and the intimacy of the situation, not to mention the near nakedness of her companion made the brunette’s blood rush to her cheeks and nether region. “I wanted to thank you, for saving Anya.”</p><p>“You do not need to thank me, Lexa. I was merely doing my job, and it is the least I can do after you all took me in and agreed to protect me against the Templars,” the blonde said with a smile that turned into a smirk when she noticed how the older woman was doing her best not to look at her chest, visible under her thin shirt.</p><p>“I know,” the brunette stuttered slightly, “but still. It was an incredible save, no one else could have done it. And besides, Anya is like a sister to me, I cannot imagine how it would have felt to lose her. So, again, thank you.”</p><p>“Then you are very welcome,” Clarke answered, before moving closer. “Is that all you came to do?”</p><p>Lexa lifted her eyes in surprise and stared into the deep blue eyes, more cobalt than sky-blue in the candlelight. She knew that the enlarged pupils were most probably due to the semi-darkness of the room, but the way the blonde bit her lips while looking at her and the small gasp that left the pink mouth when she moved one step closer led her to believe that maybe, maybe the attraction she had been feeling for months wasn’t as one-sided as she feared. Taking a deep breath, the brunette took another step, bringing their bodies less than a foot apart. She saw Clarke gulp, but the physician didn’t move back. On the contrary, the tip of her tongue, consciously or not, poked out and wetted her parted lips in an enticing show. Before she could lose all her courage or second-guess herself, Lexa brought a hand to the blonde’s neck, cradling a cheek, and she inched her face closer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. December 1788 (Part 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she prayed that her hand wasn’t becoming clammy against Clarke’s face. If it was, the blonde gave no indication, too busy as she was staring at the pouty lips that were approaching her own, slowly enough that she could stop the whole thing if she wished to. But the younger woman didn’t move, unless maybe she leaned forward, Lexa wasn’t sure. Their lips connected sooner than she had anticipated, and the feeling made her breath hitch. Their mouths remained pressed for a few seconds, neither of them moving a muscle. The brunette eventually took a small step back, disconnecting them. Before she could open her eyes, however, she felt a hand grab the back of her neck with urgency, and Clarke’s lips were back against hers, more alive than before.</p><p>Before meeting the physician back in March, Lexa had had exactly three lovers. Two fellow Assassins who had since transferred to other branches of the Brotherhood, and one washerwoman from the Left Bank. All encounters had been short-lived, Titus’s teachings that love was weakness inked in her mind. They had had nothing to do with romantic feelings and displays of affection. The Assassins knew as well as she did that it couldn’t lead to anything serious as relationships among them were highly discouraged; the washerwoman hadn’t known nearly enough about her that Lexa could have considered beginning a relationship with her. It was more about scratching an itch and enjoying a moment of peace and relief. The life of an Assassin was a violent and often short one. Though they weren’t encouraged to lower their guard and put down their weapons in front of anyone, they were human after all. The brunette had never felt comfortable enough to spend the night or show them her back, but she had indulged in a few nights of passion and kisses.</p><p>And yet, this kiss was nothing like she had ever experienced before. Stars were dancing behind her eyelids as Clarke nibbled on her underlip before tracing it, oh so softly, with the tip of her tongue. Lexa felt her entire body shudder with excitement, and she would have been embarrassed by her eagerness if not for the moan that left the blonde’s throat a second later. Encouraged by her partner’s reaction, the brunette moved her hand into the soft flaxen hair and brought the two of them even closer. As Clarke began exploring her mouth with enthusiasm, Lexa let her other hand roam down an arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on the naked skin she had been dreaming of for months. Once she was passed the bent elbow, she placed it on the blonde’s hip, waiting to see if it would be swatted away. Her audacity paid off, and she felt the 18-year-old tremble against her chest before the tongue in her mouth moved deeper, more boldly.</p><p>By then, Lexa was already feeling like she had run the 4.5 kilometers separating the <em>Palais du Louvre</em> from the <em>Place du Trône</em> without pausing, and her knees were growing weaker. With an apologetic smile, she drew back just enough that she could catch her breath. She would have, if not for the look on Clarke’s face that made her heart jump and her groin ache. The blonde’s eyes were shining in the dark, the pupils so dilated that only a thin blue circle was visible around them.</p><p>“Clarke,” the brunette whispered, breaking the silence. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she needed the connection, the confirmation that she wasn’t overstepping, that the blonde wanted this as much as she did. She got her answer when the younger woman caught her chin and brought their lips together once more, although more gently than before.</p><p>The two women kissed and kissed, their mouths barely separating while they tilted their heads to change the angle before reconnecting them. Their tongues fought a battle that had no loser or winner, their teeth nipped at the soft lips that were getting bruised from all the action. Lexa was the first one to take it one step forward and to place her mouth on a shivering neck.</p><p>“Oh God, Lex,” Clarke breathed out, her fingers pulling at the chestnut locks to bring the other woman closer to her.</p><p>With a hum, the brunette started exploring the new territory open to her. She observed the pulsating vein and nuzzled the warm skin before licking a small portion of it, from bottom to top. When she felt the blonde shudder against her chest, she repeated her action with a smug smile. The physician was already so reactive, she couldn’t wait to see how it would be if she touched her intimately.</p><p>All while kissing, the women had moved closer to the bed, and Lexa felt the back of her legs pressed against the wooden frame. With a small push from Clarke, their lips separated and she sat on the edge, her mouth opened in awe. The blonde was staring at her with a fire in her eyes and pink cheeks, her breath coming out in pants. When the brunette crawled back on the mattress, her soon-to-be lover stepped forward and placed herself astride the pants-clad legs.</p><p>The two women were face-to-face, their dilated pupils staring at each other, their breaths mixing, Clarke’s chest rubbing the upper side of Lexa’s with the height difference. The brunette slid her hands along the strong milky thighs until they disappeared under the thin nightgown. Before they could reach the hidden treasure that they were aiming for, the blonde gave Lexa a searing kiss that stole the air from her lungs and made her mind swirl. When the Assassin felt her partner start to grind against her, she let her instincts take control and rolled them over until she was above the blonde, her weight resting on her forearms.</p><p>Remembering her previous experiences, Lexa was about to slip a hand under the garment and blindly caress her lover as she had done the others, but Clarke had other ideas. In a surprisingly bold yet welcome move, she pulled her nightgown all the way over her body and head before letting it fall by the side of the bed. Lexa had never been particularly religious, the result of her childhood tragedy and time in the Brotherhood, but as she was admiring the beautiful body, she could have sworn she was faced with an angel. The white skin was unblemished and spoke of hours spent inside rather than in the fields doing manual labor. The blonde, although curvier than herself, appeared more muscular than Lexa would have expected her to be. Her stomach was flat and strong abs contracted under an inquisitive hand. The breasts, large and yet perky, were adorned with two light pink nipples standing to attention that made the 19-year-old salivate in advance. A curly tuft of hair, a shade darker than on Clarke’s head, was hiding the woman’s core.</p><p>Lexa took a moment to admire the body underneath her; long enough in fact that pink spread over the blonde’s chest and cheeks. And yet, the physician didn’t move to cover her modesty. Quite the opposite, she remained immobile, letting the brunette’s eyes roam over her with undeniable lust. After a minute, however, she grew impatient and started unbuttoning Lexa’s shirt. Since the Assassin had foregone putting on bindings after her wash, she found herself naked from the waist up when the blonde pushed the white shirt off her shoulders and arms. When a hand came to her breasts and caressed them gently at first, and then with more insistence, rolling the nipples and kneading the soft skin, Lexa trembled from head to toe. Unable to hold herself up under the overwhelming sensations, she let her body fall and gently blanket the blonde until they were flushed against each other.</p><p>“Touch me, Lex,” Clarke whispered in her ear as she began to squirm, wetness painting the top of the brunette’s left tight.</p><p>Swallowing her saliva, the older woman nodded and, finally, moved her hand where it was needed, relishing the way her lover’s hips bucked against her. The warmth that greeted her made her moan, and she hid her embarrassment by placing her lips back on Clarke’s before returning them to her neck. While her fingers parted the glistening folds and dipped into heaven, she nibbled at the slightly sweaty skin, her mouth skating from the bottom of the blonde’s jaw to her shoulder, her clavicle, her chest. She almost faltered when her fingers entered the woman’s wet center, but she quickly recovered and pulled a pebbled nipple between her lips.</p><p>As Lexa moved her right hand, fingers thrust in before being pulled almost all the way out, her lover followed the quickening pace with the rolls of her hips. Soft whimpers and moans could be heard around the room, but from which mouth they were coming from, no one could have known. The two women continued their carnal dance for several minutes, staring right into each other’s souls when they weren’t exchanging kisses. Without realizing it, the brunette had started to grind on a strong thigh, chasing her own release with small whines all while pleasuring the blonde. Clarke, taking pity on her, shifted enough that one of her hands found its way between her leg and Lexa’s erect clitoris. The wetness around was more than enough, and her talented fingers began to play with it, rubbing small circles with clear intent.</p><p>“Clarke, oh,” Lexa gasped, as her head dropped back and her eyes closed. If it weren’t for the fact that she wanted to hear and see the blonde come underneath her, she would probably have fallen over the edge as soon as her sex received direct stimulation.</p><p>“Come, Lexa,” Clarke said between pants, “come for me. Come <em>with</em> me.”</p><p>The brunette could only hold off her climax long enough to push into the blonde once more and curl her fingers. As her palm rubbed against the clit she had been involuntarily stimulating for a while, Clarke was pushed into her climax with a guttural groan that triggered Lexa’s own orgasm seconds later. The two bodies shook against each other for a few moments, skin rubbing against skin and fingers trapped by clenching walls. When Lexa finally managed to pull out her hand, she let herself roll on her side as to not crush the blonde under her, and let out a deep breath.</p><p>She hadn’t even realized that she had fallen asleep until she woke with a start. She was still in Clarke’s bed, with the blonde lying by her side and caressing her arm, a smirk visible on her face.</p><p>“Sorry. How long was I asleep?”   </p><p>“No need to apologize, you were very cute. And it was not long, 15 minutes maybe? Did I tire you out already?” she added the last sentence with a teasing tone, although if the need in her eyes was any indication, Clarke was probably hoping for a negative answer.</p><p>“I think you are gravely underestimating me,” Lexa answered with a wink before rolling over the younger woman and reconnecting their bodies.</p><p>This time, the brunette made sure to pay more attention to the beautiful breasts on display, and she kissed and nibbled them while her fingers entered the blonde and brought her to a second climax. She had feared her lack of experience would be an issue, but Clarke had no qualms about giving directions and letting her know what she liked, and the result was magnificent. When her body went taut and the waves of pleasure hit, the blonde’s back arched perfectly over the bed and her blue eyes rolled back in her head. They were trying to stay quiet so the other Assassins wouldn’t be privy to their activities, but the moan that escaped the pink lips surprised Lexa who missed the chance to stifle it with her own mouth. <em>Never mind</em>, she thought, as she engraved the most beautiful sound she had ever heard into her memory.</p><p>Once Clarke had regained her senses and stopped quivering, she moved to return the favor, but Lexa stopped her with a languid kiss that ended too soon.</p><p>“I should return to my room,” she said apologetically. “Before someone catches us. Titus is finally appreciative of your presence; I don’t want to ruin all your efforts.”</p><p>“I wish you would stay,” the raspy voice answered, “but I understand. Besides, between the stress of Anya’s injury and this, I am exhausted.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Clarke,” the brunette said with a tender smile before kissing her lover and getting out of bed. She put her clothes back, forcing herself not to look at the blonde lest her resolve would falter and she would resume their previous activities.</p><p>“Goodnight, Lexa,” the physician replied after a yawn. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope? I was thinking of going for a walk and buying some herbs. I am going stir-crazy in here.”</p><p>“I would love that,” the 19-year-old said before exiting and closing the door behind her as quietly as she could. She rushed to her room and, to her relief, didn’t meet anyone in the corridors.</p><p>When she lay in her bed, a single candle lighting the room, Lexa felt a goofy smile pull at her lips and was powerless to stop it. Her time with the blonde had been the best, most exhilarating experience of her life. Better than free-falling from a building into a haystack or running away from guards after a well-done mission. She knew that they had to be careful, for the Master Assassin wouldn’t be pleased to hear of their relationship, but, for the first time in her life, she couldn’t care less what Titus thought. She had had a taste of Clarke, and she needed more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. December 1788 (Part 4)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following morning, as promised, Lexa accompanied Clarke on her errand. She wasn’t sure if Titus had bought her explanation when she said that the Templars might be looking to retaliate after the murder of one of their own, but the bald man didn’t order her to stay. The search of the house on <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em> had been a waste of time, by the time Indra and the Assassins arrived, it was empty, and they had no idea what might happen next. After saving Anya’s life, the blonde seemed to have gained some of his esteem and trust, and those weren’t easily obtained. The brunette knew that their relationship — whatever the new parameters were — had to remain a secret, but at least they should now be able to spend more time together as friends without having to hide. </p><p>The two women crossed over the Seine onto the Left Bank at a leisurely pace, enjoying the crisp weather and the shy sun that poked from time to time between the clouds. The physician had once more hidden her blonde locks under the red wig, lowering the risk of an attack from the Rite. With Christmas only a few days away, several shops were selling little bags of presents that suited every budget. Dry fruits, nuts, almonds, and bread for the poorer people; cakes, delicacies, and oranges for the wealthiest. Not that the Assassins usually went out of their way to celebrate the birth of Christ, but even they were used to exchanging small tokens on the 25<sup>th</sup>. Among other things, Lexa had purchased a new dagger for Anya and a warm coat for Gustus with the money she had saved from some of her missions. The only present she still needed to find was Clarke’s, and her anxiety increased tenfold following their night together. She had to find something truly meaningful for the beautiful blonde, a gift worthy of her. She had a few ideas in mind, but she needed to hurry or it would be too late.</p><p>After over an hour spent side by side exploring the Parisian streets and a handful of herbs shops, Lexa was conflicted. She didn’t want to cut her time with the blonde short, but it might be her last chance to buy her a present, and she couldn’t do it in her presence. Thankfully, the decision was taken out of her hands when Clarke announced that she needed some time alone to find her a Christmas gift. As it turned out, the brunette wasn’t the only person to suffer from chronic indecision, and Clarke’s endearing confession made her smile. They agreed to meet again two hours later in front of the <em>Abbaye Sainte-Geneviève de Paris</em>, a monastery reportedly built in 502, which construction work to convert it into the <em>Panthéon </em>was nearly over.</p><p>Now that Lexa was alone, she rushed toward <em>rue Saint-Victor</em>, five minutes north of the <em>Panthéon</em>, where she knew that a shop might have what she needed. Indeed, she rapidly found the art supplies she had been thinking of, charcoal and good-quality paper, but the price made her wince. The young woman, like all the members of the Brotherhood, was expected to share the rewards she reaped with her brothers and sisters. She was allowed to keep little money to herself to cover the expenses she might have during a mission, but since the Brotherhood paid for the accommodation, food, clothing, and weaponry, the Assassins had little need for coins. What was normally no cause for concern turned out to be an issue, as Lexa didn’t have nearly enough in her pockets to buy what she wanted. And she refused to resort to pickpocketing the good people of Paris, a practice not uncommon among the Assassins but that she disapproved of.</p><p>Dame Fortune was on her side that day, however, as the shop owner turned out to require assistance. The middle-aged woman, Madeleine, consented to lower the price of the goods Lexa was eyeing if the brunette could retrieve something for her. A handful of expensive paintbrushes had been stolen from her store a week before by a young painter. The man had taken advantage of Madeleine’s inattention to pocket the items he couldn’t afford, and left before the woman could notice. She had tried to get the guards involved, but it was her word against his, and the soldiers had better things to do these days than to track stolen brushes. Of course, Lexa accepted immediately and headed for the area where the man lived.</p><p>Upon inquiry, she found out that the artist, called Laurent Dabos, lived at number 5 <em>rue Judas </em>with a couple of friends, only a few minutes away from the shop. Looking at the clock on the nearby church, she realized that it had already been over 45 minutes since she and Clarke had split, and she needed to hurry if she wanted to make it back in time. After observing the house for several minutes and discreetly asking the neighbors, she learned that the man and his friends had been seen exiting their place an hour before, probably to spend some time in a café.</p><p>A few buildings down the street, some scaffolding placed against the façade of a store offered an excellent way to avoid detection while entering the house. Lexa climbed it in record time, thankful that no one was around to stop her, and stepped onto the rooftop. She ran and jumped from house to house until she was over number 5. She approached the closest dormer and, after glancing inside to make sure no one was at home, she broke a window panel with her elbow and opened the latch. As the neighbors had said, the place seemed empty, and Lexa hurried downstairs, looking for the painter’s room or studio. After opening two wrong doors, she found what she had been looking for on the ground floor.</p><p>The room was spacious enough, with large windows at the back that let the natural light in and the smell of paints out. Two different canvases were sitting on easels, half-done. The brunette was no art critic, but she found the paintings beautiful, although not as impressive as the ones done by Clarke that she had seen before. Breaking out of her reverie, she settled down to the task at hand. Madeleine had given a precise description of the five brushes she had to recover, and the mission had sounded simple enough. Alas, Lexa hadn’t taken into account the state of clutter the room was in, and she sighed at the prospect of looking around what reminded her of the Augean Stables. If it weren’t for her perfect success rate and the fact that she needed the discount to be able to afford Clarke’s gift, she would have been tempted to give up.     </p><p>Jumping over the mess on the floor, pushing aside rolls of paper, plates of half-eaten food covered in ants, and stained clothes, it took Lexa almost an hour to find what she had been looking for. Three of the brushes had already been used, but they all seemed in good condition enough that Madeleine would still be able to sell them.</p><p>Not wanting to waste another minute, the brunette exited through the back door that led to a small deserted square and ran back to the store on <em>rue Saint-Victor</em>. As promised, after confirming the authenticity of the prized brushes, Madeleine agreed to sell the pieces of charcoal and rolls of paper to Lexa for half their original price. She was even kind enough to wrap them quickly with paper so that the Assassin would be able to carry them easily and hide them from her companion. By the time Lexa exited the shop, the two hours were up, and she had to run back to the <em>Panthéon</em>, her precious cargo in her hands.</p><p>When she arrived at the meeting point, the 19-year-old was surprised to note that, despite her tardiness, Clarke was nowhere to be seen. She figured at first that the blonde had simply been delayed and leaned against a wall to keep an eye on the streets around. After about 20 minutes, however, her worry grew, and she started to fear that the Templars had recognized and kidnapped or injured her lover. She was about to have a look in the direction the blonde had left when she finally spotted her coming from <em>rue Saint-Jacques</em>. Lexa felt relief course through her veins when she realized that the younger woman was safe and sound, but it was short-lived. As she got closer, the brunette noticed that the normally blue and shining eyes were red-rimmed, and that tears were rolling down the round face. In her hurry to get to her, Lexa nearly dropped her gift, and only her fast reflexes were enough to save it from falling on the muddy ground.</p><p>“Clarke! What’s wrong?” she asked at once as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s arm and looked at her face. “Are you injured?”</p><p>“Lexa?” the blonde replied, seemingly surprised to see the brunette as she jerked backward before calming herself and inching her body closer once more. “It’s—I am fine, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Then why are you crying? What happened?”</p><p>“There was a young orphan, a few streets away. She couldn’t have been more than 10, lying in a corner of the street, clearly malnourished. I tried to help her but—she was already dead, Lexa,” the blonde explained, and her voice broke at the last part. “She made me think of you, how it could have been you, 10 years ago, dead on the street with no one to care. It broke my heart.”</p><p>The brunette gently pulled her lover into her arms, her free hand wrapping around Clarke’s back until it was rubbing small circles against it. After a moment, she felt the blonde calm down and deposited a soft kiss against her forehead.</p><p>“I am sorry you had to see that. Sadly, it is not a rare sight, especially with the famine that threatens us all. I was lucky Titus found me when he did, and offered me a home. Come on,” she added as she pulled the blonde’s hand, “let’s return to the hideout. We have had enough excitement for one day, it seems.”</p><p>Clarke didn’t argue and let the brunette usher her toward <em>île Saint-Louis </em>in silence. Once they reached the secret lair of the Brotherhood, she retreated into her room after saying that she wanted to refresh, and Lexa understood that the blonde needed a moment alone to compose herself. In fact, it took the 18-year-old several days to return to her normal joyful self, and it pained the green-eyed woman to see her friend so sad and quiet.</p><p>Thankfully, Clarke’s happier disposition had returned in time for Christmas, and the celebrations were able to bring a beautiful smile back on her face. She laughed at the training dagger Lincoln offered her — they were normally reserved to the novitiates, and particularly the children — and nodded her thanks at Anya when she opened the medical treatise the tall blonde had bought for her as a thank you for saving her life. But it was Lexa’s gift, the charcoal and paper bought by the sweat of her brow that had her positively beaming, and the brunette felt her heart jump in her chest at the sight.</p><p>To her surprise, Clarke didn’t give her any gift during the meal they all shared, and Lexa did her best to hide her disappointment. She received an explanation for it a few hours later when, once all the lair inhabitants had retired to their rooms, she heard a soft knock on her door. After the customary “Entrez”, the blonde made her way inside, almost timidly, and placed a wrapped flat object into the brunette’s hands. Lexa had to take a deep breath to hold her tears when she found herself looking at an original edition of <em>Les Liaisons Dangereuses</em>, by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. The older woman had mentioned how learning to read had meant so much to her, and how Titus, despite his busy schedule and stern attitude, had made good on his promise and taught her. She had received weapons and nice clothes from her fellow Assassins, but this was, by far, the most meaningful gift she could have expected, and the fact that Clarke had chosen that over anything else sent butterflies into her stomach.</p><p>Since the words were stuck in her throat with the emotion, she decided to show her thanks instead by pulling the blonde into a tender kiss that turned heated in seconds. If Clarke felt the tear that escaped the viridian eyes, she didn’t mention it, and the two women found themselves naked only moments later. They spent far longer rolling in the sheets than during their first time together and, although the blonde eventually had to return to her room in the early hours of the morning, Lexa could have sworn the younger woman left with a small piece of her heart tucked safely in her talented hands.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes:<br/>The abbey Sainte-Geneviève was renovated and transformed into what is now the Panthéon between 1758 and 1790. As the construction finished just after the Revolution, it was decided that instead of housing the relics of Ste Genevieve, the building would honor people who left their mark in French History (except the soldiers, already honored in Invalides). Among the figures buried there, you can find the tombs of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (philosopher), Victor Hugo (writer), Marie Curie (scientist), and a few members of the Resistance.</p><p>Laurent Dabos (1761-1835) was an actual French painter who lived in Paris around that time. I doubt he ever stole paintbrushes though, so my apologies to his potential descendants if they ever read this!</p><p>The Augean Stables was the fifth Labor of Heracles, who had to clean the stables of King Augeas that hadn’t been cleaned in over 30 years and were occupied by immortal cattle that produced a humongous amount of dung. He succeeded by rerouting two nearby rivers.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. January to April 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following four months happened faster than anyone would have thought it possible, and with them, many changes occurred that would leave a strong mark on French History. The French people, and particularly the Parisians, hungry and tired of the luxury in which the court lived while their children were dying of starvation demanded change, and when it didn’t come, they took up arms.</p><p>The French political system known as the <em>Ancient Régime</em>, the Old Regime, remained from the Late Middle Ages (14<sup>th</sup> century) until it faltered during the 18<sup>th</sup> century under the combined pressure of several crises. An economical one first: after the terrible weather of 1788 and the loss of the harvests, the price of cereal underwent such a steep rise that most people couldn’t afford bread anymore. As a direct consequence, a social crisis began. The populace spent all her money on food and didn’t have spare for any other expenses, which led to a rise in unemployment among the craftspeople. Mendicancy exploded, and with it, troubles and violence became more common in the cities. Finally, a political crisis occurred. The king, Louis XVI, lacked charisma and appeared too hesitant. As for his wife, Marie-Antoinette, though the people had loved the young Austrian princess at first, with the years the main critics regarding the monarchy centered around her person. She was seen as spendthrift and frivolous, two qualities that didn’t fare well while the population starved.</p><p>After the riots of 1788 and the poor financial situation of the kingdom, the king was forced to summon the <em>États Généraux</em>, the Estates General, for May 1789, in an edict sent on January 24, 1789. This general assembly, which represented the three estates of the realm: the clergy, the nobility, and the commoners — the ones who paid the most taxes to the Crown and the two other estates — was meant to allow a transition from an absolute monarchy to a constitutional one. In early spring 1789, the elections for each state began, and the Assassins found themselves busier than ever keeping an eye on political figures who were starting to make waves, such as a young lawyer by the name of Maximilien Robespierre, a deputy for the Third Estate.</p><p>In April, Lexa and Ryder, one of her fellow Assassins, were tasked with the protection of a 40-year-old called Jacopo Sinclair who, despite his family name and riches, was quietly campaigning for more equality. Once his position became known, the man started receiving letters containing threats of death if he didn’t withdraw or vote to support the king. The missives continued to arrive regularly, until one day a large rat was nailed on his front door, terrorizing a servant so much that the poor girl fainted. As they had no idea when his enemies might carry out their threat, the two Assassins were taking turns following the man around and protecting his house. It was a rather boring and exhausting mission, as they had to remain focused and on high alert at all times, and the brunette found herself away from the hideout more often than not, to her annoyance. Orders were orders, though, and not once did she complain about being unable to spend time with Clarke, or the rest of her friends.</p><p>The relationship between the two women was flourishing as well as it could while having to be kept secret, and on the morning of the 25<sup>th</sup>, they kissed under an alcove before going their separate way. The blonde planned to spend the day with her mother, whom she hadn’t seen much ever since she had moved into the Brotherhood’s lair, and Lexa was scheduled to replace Ryder and take her 16-hour shift.</p><p>When she arrived at Sinclair’s house, located <em>rue de Venise</em>, on the Right Bank, she was happy to hear that Ryder hadn’t noticed anything suspicious and that all was well. The mission might be rather boring, that didn’t mean that she wished Sinclair any harm.</p><p>She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. He was kind enough, well-mannered, and brilliant if the inventions he had shown them while giving a tour of his house and workshop were anything to go by. But there was a certain nervousness in him, his hands often shaking and his eyes incessantly looking around, which made Lexa uneasy. They had been hired by a fellow representant of the man, not by Sinclair himself, and he had gone very white on the first day the brunette and Ryder had knocked on his door to introduce themselves. But then, in his paranoid state, trusting people who called themselves Assassins would surely sound rather counterproductive, wouldn’t it? Furthermore, despite his initial reluctance to let them in, the curly-haired engineer seemed to have grown accustomed to their presence and listened to their advice without complaint. </p><p>On that particular day, the man worked on one of his inventions, while Lexa kept guard near one of the windows. He had tried to explain his work to the brunette in an attempt to ease the silence between them, but it had rapidly become apparent that the woman had no inclination for mechanics and physics. Since joining the Brotherhood, Lex had turned into an avid reader and prided herself on her vast knowledge in philosophy, law, and even languages. But even she could admit that when it came to the more scientific subjects, such as chemistry or science, her interest dwindled faster than the people’s love for the Marie-Antoinette.</p><p>Around midday, the torture ended when Sinclair, who too was growing tired of spending time in the stuffy room bent over his designs, decided to go out. He needed to put his hand on some spare pieces and materials and suggested they hurried before his cook finished preparing lunch. Lexa knew that they should avoid exiting the house, where it was easier to protect him than on the streets, but after three weeks cooped up inside most of the time, the man was going stir-crazy, and so was she. There hadn’t been any letter or other threat since the rat incident, and hopefully whoever was after Sinclair had gotten better things to do. Nonetheless, Lexa made sure to check that all her weapons were armed, sharpened, and ready before they left the house, both of them wearing hooded light coats that hid their identity as best as they could.</p><p>They walked down the <em>rue Saint-Martin</em> for a few minutes before turning left onto a smaller one called <em>rue de la Verrerie</em> where Sinclair knew a shop that would have what he needed. The young Assassin remained outside the door, her back to the wall and her eyes roaming the street and rooftops to make sure they were safe. After 20 minutes or so, her charge exited the shop with a satisfied smile and nodded at Lexa to follow him back home.</p><p>On the way back, Lexa opted for a different route with smaller streets rather than the large and crowded <em>rue Saint Martin</em>. One of the things Assassins learned early in the training was to avoid taking the same path twice lest enemies would set a trap on their way back. They were in the middle of <em>rue Quincampoix</em>, less than 100 meters away from Sinclair’s home when a shot echoed around them. The brunette had diligently kept an eye on their surroundings at all times to make sure that they weren’t being followed. And yet, a shooter, lying in ambush, had managed to surprise her and hit Sinclair in the head, killing him before his body could even reach the ground.</p><p>As Lexa turned crouched and spun around to look for the assailant, she noticed a shadow on a roof, two houses down. Whoever it was, they were extremely skilled with a rifle, as the shooter was at least 40 meters away from Sinclair. In the middle of the street as she was, the brunette was exposed, but to her surprise, no other bullet came. Instead, she realized that the dark figure was retreating, and immediately ran toward them.</p><p>The green-eyed woman ran toward the closest building and climbed it in a matter of seconds, not caring if someone saw her. Several Parisians had gathered around the body already, alerted by the gunshot, and capturing the killer was her priority now. After hauling herself onto the rooftop, Lexa looked around to make sure she wasn’t in any immediate danger and took off in the direction she had seen the shadow disappear.</p><p>The two of them continued this game of the mouse and the cat for several minutes, jumping from building to building with incredible agility. Lexa had to admit, her opponent was good. She was considered the most talented member of the Parisian branch of the Brotherhood, if not the whole of France, and the masked figure was giving her a run for her money. They showed great stamina and didn’t hesitate to throw themselves off the rooftops onto lower ones, rolling to absorb the impact before getting back on their feet. More surprisingly, they didn’t once turn around to shoot at Lexa, and based on what the brunette had seen of their abilities, they might actually reach their target. The Assassin deduced that her adversary was better with long-range weapons than she was, but maybe they weren’t as confident in their close-range skills and didn’t want to engage in a sword fight. They apparently believed that they could escape Lexa and disappear among the Parisian streets.</p><p>But the 19-year-old was an extraordinary athlete who had been using the houses and roofs of Paris as her own playground for years. This was ultimately what made her the best among her peers. Lincoln was stronger and knew more about medicine, Anya was possibly the only person who could still beat her at hand-to-hand combat, Indra might best her with a sword if given the chance. But no one, not a single Assassin could measure up to Lexa when it came to stealth and free running. And her opponent learned it the hard way when, after a good 15 minutes of chasing them, the brunette caught up with them not far from the Seine and deviated the navy-blue-clad body as they leaped over a narrow street.</p><p>To their credit, the figure got back on their feet quickly, but Lexa had already jumped and placed herself between the Templar and the nearest building. Panting, the brunette took a second to observe her opponent. They were shorter and lighter than the two men she had fought before, a long coat hiding their body and a large black mask covering their features. Lexa assumed she was faced with a teenager or a woman, but she had learned from experience that appearances could be deceitful, and she remained guarded.</p><p>Before she could approach, however, the masked figure who had been holding their hands behind their back made a sudden move and threw an explosive device between them. Lexa was expecting smoke, not unlike the grenades used by the Assassins, and she didn’t close her eyes in time to avoid the flash of light that blinded her. In her vulnerable state, she unsheathed her sword and twirled it around in hopes to catch the Templar before they could finish her. When her vision got clearer, however, she realized that she was alone on the roof and that no trace remained of her opponent.</p><p>It was almost two in the afternoon when Lexa passed the gate of the hideout, her jaws clenched and her head low in shame. For the first time, she had been bested and had failed to accomplish a mission. The man she had been tasked to protect was dead, and the killer had slipped through her fingers. To say that Titus was angry would be an understatement, but it was the clear disappointment in his brown eyes that hurt the brunette the most.</p><p>After a long and painful debriefing with her former mentor and the rest of the Council, the 19-year-old made her way to her room as fast as she could, not wanting to see the faces of her friends. All of them had missed at one point or another, and she knew that they would try to comfort her, but she didn’t want their pity and sweet words. Once she had closed the door, she let out a growl of frustration and punched the adjacent wall until her knuckles were raw and bloody. When the door opened behind her, as she was staring into nothing, she expected Anya to be the one to dare disturb her. But when two soft hands circled her waist and a soft kiss was placed against her neck, the levee broke and heavy sobs erupted from her throat.</p><p>“Shh, you’re OK, <em>mon amour</em>. You’re OK. It wasn’t your fault,” Clarke whispered in her ears before turning the brunette around so Lexa could bury her face in the soft blonde locks, and in her state, she missed the term of endearment that had escaped.    </p><p>The green-eyed woman would remember much of that afternoon, but when she woke up a couple of hours later, with red puffy eyes and an itchy throat, her hands had been wrapped with care and she was curled up against Clarke, her head resting on a pale shoulder and her arm wrapped around the blonde’s waist.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>mon amour = my love</p><p>Although my description of the causes of the crisis that led to the summoning of the Estates General and later to the Revolution is correct, the part about the Assassins having to protect some personalities from threats and assassination attempts is of course fictional, at least as far as I know.</p><p>Here is the repartition of the population into 3 classes :<br/>- Clergy: 0.5%<br/>- Nobility: 1.5%. The warrior class.<br/>- Third Estate/commoners: 98%. Mostly the peasants and city dwellers.</p><p>Robespierre, who is briefly mentioned in this chapter, will become one of the leading figures of the Revolution and of the period that followed, known as the Terror. Some other historical figures will appear (or come back, e.g. Brissot) in the coming chapters as the Revolution plays out, but don't worry if you can't remember all of them. Despite its strong historical background, this fic mostly centers around the Assassins, the Templars, and Clexa 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. May to June 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one apart from Titus blamed Lexa for Sinclair’s death, not even Ryder, as she clearly had done everything that she could to protect him and then track his murderer. And yet, despite her friends’ support, it took Lexa some days to shake the feeling of failure and agree to join in on another mission. The golden child who had never missed before took it hard, and her confidence was shaken. It would probably have taken her longer if Anya and Lincoln hadn’t pretty much forced her out of her room and dragged her outside. Self-doubt was a mortal weakness for an Assassin, and she needed to snap out of it.</p><p>One cold morning of early May, her two friends, shadowed by Tris who had officially become Anya’s Second, her personal trainee, brought Lexa on a mission. It was a simple one, gather some information on the latest political developments. The Estates General was scheduled to begin the following day, on the 5<sup>th</sup>, and the Brotherhood wanted to be ready for whatever might happen. The four of them ended up infiltrating two separate houses of nobles suspected of intimidating their fellow representants. In one of them, they found incriminating documents that they brought back to the hideout as quickly as possible. The council would certainly decide to take out the mercenaries meant to threaten the poor representant or to offer him protection. Either way, the mission was an easy success, and Lexa felt a weight lifted from her shoulders when she returned to the <em>île Saint-Louis</em>. Unfortunately, her next mission a few days later didn’t go quite as well.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The Estates General had begun with festivities, and as expected, things were tense. The clergy and the nobility, in full regalia, were offered the best seats while the representants of the Third Estate were placed at the far end. But what triggered the animosity of the latter was the announcement, on the 6<sup>th</sup>, that the votes would be done “by order”, meaning that the collective vote of each estate would be weighed equally. A vote per head would have been to the Third Estate’s advantage, as it had more representatives than the other two. With the quasi-certainty that the clergy and the nobility would vote together, the representatives of the populace felt tricked and complained. The Comte de Mirabeau, one of the noblemen who had chosen to be elected as a representant of the Third Estate instead of the second, began publishing the minutes of the sessions and his analysis of some political questions in his gazette, <em>États Généraux</em>. The newspaper was banned the following day, but the count continued to publish it nonetheless under different names.</p><p>Sensing the danger the man was putting himself into, Titus ordered Lexa and Anya to protect his long-time friend. From the middle of May, the two Assassins started acting as bodyguards for the orator, following him everywhere except inside the assembly chamber located in the <em>Hôtel des Menus Plaisirs</em> in the town of Versailles, near the palace. Not wanting to repeat the mistake made with Sinclair, the two friends agreed to always work together instead of taking turns, despite the tiredness that would surely ensue. At night, Mirabeau promised not to leave his house, which was under the protection of another group of mercenaries, so they could rest in a nearby room owned by the Brotherhood. They wished their charge could have been disguised to lower the chances that he would be recognized and therefore targeted, but it was no easy feat, and they had quickly given up. The man was indeed not particularly tall or large, but he possessed a head so disproportionately big that his family had thought him to suffer from hydrocephalus upon his birth. His ugliness was accentuated by the traces of a virulent attack of smallpox during his childhood, and the combination of the two made the nobleman unmistakable. Hence, the two Assassins often had to push away the onlookers who would recognize the count and try to talk to him about their grievances.</p><p>On May 17, the count was on his way to the <em>Hôtel des Menus Plaisirs</em> when an incident occurred. Lexa had been following the man on the street, while her companion was keeping watch from the roofs. The shops were beginning to open, and a few Versaillais were going about their business when a small round black device was thrown from a nearby house and landed a foot away from Mirabeau. With lightspeed reflexes, the brunette sprung forward and kicked the bomb with the toe of her right boot, sending it flying further down the street where it exploded less than a second later with a great noise. As the people around them were crying and running about, Lexa grabbed Mirabeau by the collar of his coat and dragged him into the closest shop where they would be safe from possible shots. Part of her wanted to help Anya, but she had to trust her friend and remain with their charge.</p><p>After several minutes, she estimated that whoever was behind the attack would assuredly be gone, driven away by her partner. Lexa convinced Mirabeau to exit the shop and make way to the assembly. She didn’t want to remain near the scene too long, fearing that some onlooker might recognize her as the one who had kicked the device and point the guards toward her. Their journey was hasty and silent, the count shaking in his boots while Lexa didn’t take her eyes off the roofs for more than a second.</p><p>Once the man was inside the <em>Hôtel</em>, the young Assassin took off in the direction she had come from, praying that she wasn’t too late. She climbed the back of the house where she thought the bomb had been thrown from, avoiding the soldiers that were gathered on the other side of the building, and began looking for clues. She found no indication as to who had tried to kill Mirabeau, but on an adjacent roof, she noticed a small piece of grayish-blue fabric similar to the one she was wearing. Her intuition was confirmed when, two houses down the street, she found another similar one. Anya, despite giving chase to their assailant, had managed to tear small pieces of her sleeve to leave a trail for Lexa. Smiling at the ingenuity of her old friend, the brunette hurried her search for more signs.</p><p>She had been walking for about 15 minutes, jumping from house to house and collecting no less than 12 other pieces of fabric when she noticed Anya from afar, running toward her. The almond-eyed Assassin seemed unharmed, and Lexa stopped herself from hugging the woman, who would have squirmed at the strange display of affection.</p><p>“Are you all right, An? Did you catch them?”</p><p>“I’m fine. That weasel was fast, but I caught up with him a few streets away. He might have been good with explosives, but he wasn’t a great fighter. I had him flat on his back in no time. Unfortunately, before I could try to interrogate him, he swallowed some powder from a ring he had on his finger.”</p><p>“A Templar?”</p><p>“Yes, I believe so. I searched him, of course, but found no documents whatsoever. He had a long black coat and a mask, similar to the ones you described from the ambush at <em>Jardin du Luxembourg</em>.”</p><p>“I see. It is a shame he died before we could get information out of him, I know that the council is anxious to find out more about the new members of the Parisian Rite we have recently had to deal with. But Mirabeau is alive and made it to the assembly, so there is some silver lining here.”</p><p>No other attempt would be made on the count’s life, despite the ugly turn taken by the Estates General. Lexa missed her lover dearly, but she was forced to remain by the man’s side until the situation was over. Mid-June, the Third Estate invited the other two to join it and settle their powers together. On June 17, when this attempt failed, the representants of the Third Estate, led by Mirabeau, declared themselves as the National Assembly, an assembly of the people, not of the estates. They invited the other two orders to join them once more and made it clear that they were planning to make decisions regarding the nation’s affairs with or without them. When the King had the room where they were meeting closed for renovation, the National Assembly met in another place, <em>la salle du Jeu de Paume</em>, the Tennis Court, where on June 20, they swore an oath not to separate until the Constitution of the kingdom was established.</p><p>When the King refused to recognize the legal character of this Assembly and ordered its breakup, Mirabeau replied, “We are here by the people’s will and only the bayonets will force us out.” After a month full of tensions and threats closely followed by the Assassins, the King conceded on June 27 — and secretly called in his Swiss and German regiment to surround Paris, in hopes that they would be less sympathetic to the cause of the populace than the French soldiers. He ordered the representatives of the clergy and the nobility to sit with the Third Estate and authorized a vote by head instead of by estate. The commoners had won.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>At the end of June 1789, Anya and Lexa returned to Paris, after spending seven weeks in Versailles. Now that the Estates General were well on their way and that the King had yielded, the threats against Mirabeau were deemed less serious by the council. They sent another two younger Assassins to replace them, but the two women’s talents were needed in Paris.</p><p>The brunette was excited to reunite with her favorite blonde, and even Anya’s teasing remarks did nothing to slow her down. Upon their arrival, however, the heavy and subdued atmosphere in the lair was enough to inform them that something bad had happened in their absence. Ignoring Anya’s cries for her to wait, Lexa rushed to the infirmary, praying that Clarke would be there, safe and healthy. In her haste, she flung the door open with such violence that it banged against the wall, surprising Luna so much the curly-haired woman dropped the vial she had been carrying. The sound of broken glass and the curse that followed barely registered in Lexa’s mind as she stared at the blonde who was standing in the middle of the room, talking with a recruit lying on a bed.</p><p>Relief flooded the green-eyed brunette’s veins and she felt the vise that had been compressing her lungs come loose at once. It was only then that she realized the scene she had caused, and embarrassment took over. She remained standing in the threshold for a couple of seconds, stiff as a board, wondering if she should enter or leave, when, thankfully, Clarke decided for her. Having recovered from her surprise and the shock of seeing Lexa appear out of the blue, the blonde strode the distance that separated them and threw herself against her lover. Her arms circled the slender neck, and her round face nuzzled the 19-year-old, feeling the pulse beating erratically under the skin.</p><p>“Lexa, you are here!”</p><p>In any other situation, the young Assassin would have been self-conscious about the show of affection. But Titus wasn’t anywhere in sight, Luna rolled her eyes and turned around with a smirk, and she had missed her lover with all her heart. So, for once, she forgot all decorum and tightened her arms around the girl’s waist, bringing their bodies even closer.</p><p>“I am here. I missed you, <em>ma chérie</em>.”</p><p>“Are you well?” the blonde eventually asked after a minute, breaking their embrace. “You were pale when you arrived.”</p><p>“I am fine, thank you. Our mission was a success, and neither Anya nor I were injured. But when we arrived here, it felt as if people were in mourning. I feared something had happened to you.”</p><p>“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke replied with a sad face before hugging her lover once more. “I am fine, but I am afraid I have bad news. Something happened while you were away.”</p><p>The following 15 minutes, the physician explained to the brunette the sad ordeal that had taken place two days before. Indra had brought Octavia with her on a mission to test her progress. The newly turned 18-year-old had shown great natural skills during her training, and she would be graduating soon to a full-fledged Assassin. The mission had been meant to be a simple one, infiltrating a house and retrieving some important documents linked to the current political events. Things had gone well and Octavia was out in no time with the papers in her chest pocket. However, on their way back, she and Indra were attacked by a group of Templars. Indra tried to protect her Second, but she ended up being shot and left for dead on the street, while she watched the young brunette being drugged and kidnapped. Luckily for her, Lincoln had been nearby and, drawn by the sound of gunshots, had found her and brought her back before it was too late. Thanks to the joint efforts of Clarke and Luna, the dark-skinned woman would recover from her wound, but she would be out of commission for several weeks. Lincoln, Octavia’s lover, was devastated and hadn’t left his room since that day.</p><p>Lexa felt tears pool in her viridian eyes at the news. She had grown fond of the brash and talented girl, and the news was a terrible blow. The Rite had been kidnapping Assassins for over two years now, and the very few who had been seen again seemed crazy and blood-lusted, attacking their former comrades without mercy until the Assassins had no other choice but to kill them. All in the hideout knew that Octavia was lost, and the feeling of powerlessness was difficult to stomach for the men and women who were so used to being in control behind the scenes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ma chérie = my darling</p><p>Notes: the Comte de Mirabeau is a real figure of the Revolution who will appear in this fic a few more times, but the story depicted here is of course pure fiction. Fun fact, he also appears in Assassin’s Creed Unity as a mentor of the Brotherhood.</p><p>Next: the Storming of the Bastille!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. July 14th 1789 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The two weeks that followed Lexa’s return to <em>île Saint-Louis</em> were full of riots and tensions. No one could realize yet how the events and decisions taken would impact everyone’s life, as well as the fate of the entire kingdom. Even the Assassins, though used to political intrigues and their consequences, failed to measure how deep the upcoming changes would run.</p><p>With Indra incapacitated, Titus and Gustus had their hands full with the management of the missions and the training of the recruits. Tensions were running high as rumors of foreign troops called by the King and approaching Paris were floating around, and the Brotherhood had difficulties maintaining a semblance of peace. Lincoln was refusing to give up on Octavia and continued to look for clues as to where the Templars could have taken her, leaving Lexa, Anya, and the other senior Assassins to patrol the city and protect the citizens. Although many protests remained calm and peaceful, they had to intervene more than once to rescue shop owners who were accused of dissimulating goods — particularly bread — and nobles who found themselves trapped when crowds circled their carriages.</p><p>The peace was hanging by a thread, and on July 11<sup>th</sup>, the dismissal of Necker, the Finance Minister sympathetic to the Third Estate, was the last straw. Nothing would be able to contain the indignation and anger of the populace, oppressed for far too long. The next morning, Lexa found herself standing in the middle of a crowd, dissimulated under her hood, and listening to a passionate speech improvised by a young journalist and lawyer, Camille Desmoulins. Though she agreed with most of the long black-haired man’s arguments, the brunette shook her head at the realization that they now had to add his name to the ever-growing list of people the Brotherhood had to protect from Templar retaliation. The populace, encouraged by his words and followed at a reasonable distance by Lexa, started demonstrating soon after in the streets of Paris against the royal decision to fire Necker.</p><p>Several riots began, which culminated in the form of clashes with the Royal-Allemand cavalry in the evening. The brunette, who was observing the angry crowd from the roofs, debated if she should intervene and protect the vastly underarmed citizens from the soldiers’ rifles and bayonets. To her surprise, the French Guards suddenly defected to the revolutionary cause, placed themselves in front of the citizens, and fired on the German soldiers. This elite infantry regiment that belonged to the Military Household of the King of France was traditionally tasked with the protection of the palace of Versailles. However, and the King had failed to anticipate this, they had also grown strong ties with the people of Paris, and after weeks of following orders and acting against the crowds, they finally had enough and the majority of them deserted. Unbeknown to the Assassin and themselves yet, they would play a crucial role, less than 48 hours later, in the fall of the Bastille. That night, though the brunette returned to the hideout with hopes that the King would realize his errors and that peace would prevail, she sharpened her blades and packed extra projectiles for her phantom blade.</p><p>On July 13<sup>th</sup>, the Parisian branch of the Brotherhood woke up to the sound of the panic that continued to spread in Paris. The population, fearing that the 20,000 foreign soldiers gathered around the capital might decide to attack, started preparing. They opened the prisons, seized the reserves of grain, as the price of the bread was reaching new records, and began looking for weapons. A bourgeois militia of 48,000 men meant to support and defend the National Assembly and control the riots was created with the support of Mirabeau. When rumors spread that weapons and more grain were stored in the Bastille, the prison located in the east of Paris, it was only a matter of time before things took an irreversible turn. To Lexa’s chagrin, Clarke opted to return to her mother’s house for the time being, as she didn’t want to leave her alone with only a couple of servants. The two women separated after many kisses and promises to see each other soon again, even though both knew that it was impossible to predict when or if things would ever go back to normal.</p><p>The next day, July 14<sup>th</sup>, Lexa had no idea when she exited the headquarters on <em>île Saint-Louis</em> that she was about to participate in an event that would leave its mark in the History textbooks for centuries. Upon the news that, that same morning, the rioters had seized the 30,000 rifles kept in the <em>Hôtel national des Invalides</em>, a hospital for former soldiers, Titus ordered all the Assassins and even the recruits to get ready. As Lincoln still wasn’t feeling like himself after the kidnapping of his lover, he offered to remain behind and defend the hideout against a possible attack. After Lexa assured her with a nod that she would be fine, Anya decided to stay with him and patrol around <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, while the brunette and the rest of their comrades spread around the various areas to observe and intervene if Templars were spotted. As fate would have it, Lexa was assigned the north-east side of Paris, and it was there, only a kilometer away from the Assassins’ lair, that the tide of French Revolution would turn.</p><p>Realizing that the rifles were useless without gunpowder, the crowd, about 80,000 people but only 1,000 fighters, marched to the Bastille and demanded that the cannons were removed and that the 250 barrels of powder kept there were given to the bourgeois militia. The Bastille’s governor, Launay, who had placed the fortress in a defense position, met the first of several delegations sent by the Town Hall authorities to negotiate, but to no avail. Worse, as time passed and the rioters thought the representatives were being held captive. At around one o’clock, a small party decided to climb the roof of a building next to the gate to the inner courtyard. Lexa, who had stayed in the background until then, couldn’t stop herself from joining them. Things had taken such a turn that she had no doubt the Parisians would take the Bastille, no matter the cost. By helping, she hoped to minimize the losses on both sides and convince the governor to surrender.</p><p>Following the group of insurgents, she hauled herself onto the roof of the building adjacent to the gate and immediately fired sleeping darts at the two sentinels, incapacitating them. Her companions were willing and motivated, but none of them had the training of an Assassin, and Lexa was the first one to step onto the rampart. As expected, a handful of soldiers came at her, bayonets ready. The brunette step-sided to dodge the first one, her hidden blade burying itself in his neck before he could realize that he had missed. By the time the body hit the ground, Lexa had released another sleeping dart at one of her assailants. They were only doing their duty, and she had no wish to kill them all, but they weren’t making it easy. Two more men came at her, and this time she was forced to draw her sword. After less than 20 seconds, when the opponent on her right side fell, her blade embedded deeply in his chest, the second one dropped his sword and lifted his hands in surrender.</p><p>“Run,” Lexa ordered him, knowing that the men who had followed her onto the roof and were still climbing the wall would probably kill him if they caught him. The man nodded and left as fast as his shaking legs could carry him.</p><p>Now that the rampart overlooking the gate to the outer courtyard was undefended, the green-eyed Assassin hurried towards the drawbridge. Borrowing an ax that had been forgotten nearby, she lifted it above her head and, with all her might, let it fall on the chains, breaking them with a loud clang and allowing the crowd to storm into the courtyard.</p><p>Lexa decided then to resume the mission she had given herself and to look for the governor. She hoped that the sight of the angry Parisian in his outer courtyard would be enough to persuade the man to capitulate and give them the gunpowder they had been demanding. As she climbed one of the walls leading to an open window, she heard the cannons. She would only learn the details of what had happened later, but the French Guards had come to assist the crowd and brought five cannons and one mortar taken from the <em>Invalides</em>. When they managed to break the gate blocking the entrance of the inner courtyard, they formed a human barrier around the bridge and potentially saved thousands of people who might have otherwise fallen into the ditch.</p><p>Once Lexa was inside the Bastille, she had to revert to stealth and prudence. The Bastille might have only contained 7 prisoners at the time, it was still housing around 100 soldiers, more than even she could fight, especially without Anya by her side. After securing her hood over her head and checking that her hidden blade was still functioning perfectly, the brunette began to look for Launay. She had no idea where the man could be and, after roaming several hallways and corridors, dodging the patrols by hiding behind tables and tapestries and hauling herself onto low beams, she had to admit that she needed a better plan. She hid behind a large cabinet, and her patience eventually paid off. When a middle-aged soldier entered the room alone, she knew that it was her chance. Slipping behind her adversary as quietly as a shadow, she kicked him in the knee, making him fall with a gasp, and held her blade at his neck.</p><p>“Where is Launay?” she asked, her voice low and threatening.</p><p>“In his office,” the man stuttered, terrified of the deadly apparition. “It’s two levels down, the stairs are this way, on the left.”</p><p>Without another word, Lexa wrapped her arm around his neck and kept him in a chokehold until he passed out. After dragging the lifeless body under the table to hide her presence as long as possible, she followed the man’s directions, moving more silently than a cat. After passing a large dining room where people — the delegation sent to negotiate she assumed — were sitting and eating lunch, she had finally made it to Launay’s private office when a muffed female voice stopped her dead in her tracks.</p><p>“Governor, you cannot surrender the Bastille! If those rioters get their hands on the gunpowder, who knows what they will do next? They could attack noble houses or even Versailles. It is imperative that you resist,” Lexa heard, before a male voice replied, defeated.</p><p>“And what would you have me do? They already made it into the courtyard, and my men just reported that the inner courtyard will soon be breached too. They have cannons and the support of some of the French Guards. If I start shooting them, it will be a bloodbath on both sides.”</p><p>“I know, you cannot shoot the crowd or it will turn them into an unstoppable mob. But you can negotiate, or better, bluff. Threaten to blow up all the powder if they do not leave. It would not be an ideal solution for the Crown, but it is better than having all those barrels fall into the rebels’ hands.”</p><p>“You cannot be serious?! They will have my head.”</p><p>“Governor, you need to buy us more time. My friends are on their way and will do everything they can to stop this and redirect the people elsewhere. Keep the representatives talking and fed, meet the new ones they will assuredly send soon, and do not surrender!”</p><p>By then, Lexa had heard enough to recognize the Rite’s machinations, and she stormed inside the room. The poisoned dart left her wrist as soon as she was in, but the woman had excellent reflexes too and dodged it at the last second.</p><p>“Shit!” the brunette heard the masked figure say before, to her surprise, the Templar bolted through the window. She barely had time to notice the navy-blue coat similar to the one worn by whoever had killed Sinclair and escaped her in April and, this time, Lexa would be damned if she let her opponent slip through her fingers.</p><p>“You should surrender before this day ends in a massacre,” Lexa advised a flabbergasted Launay before following the Templar and jumping through the window onto the roof one level below.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes: the Storming of the Bastille is a real event that happened on July 14th, 1789, and one of the major events of the French Revolution. I kept the story of that day and the ones that preceded as close to the reality as I could, except of course for the part Lexa and the Templars played in it. 5 of the 6 battalions of the French Guards truly defected and helped the Bastille fall by bringing and manning the cannons that eventually broke the gates, and then protected both the crowd from falling into the ditch when they stormed in and the garrison inside from being lynched. The final count [according to French Wikipedia] states that 98 attackers and 1 defender died during the fight, which lasted from around 1 PM to Launay’s capitulation at 5:30 PM. Launay, the merchants' provost accused of treason, three officers, and three soldiers were killed by the crowd. The rest were protected by the French Guards.</p><p>Has anyone read the manga or watched the anime The Rose of Versailles, by Riyoko Ikeda? The tone is different from AC and this fic, but it is a true gem and gives a great rendition of the events that led to the Revolution and the fall of the Bastille. Plus, the main character, a young woman named Oscar forced to live her life as a man and soldier by her father who wanted a boy, strongly reminds me of Lexa. I had a big crush on her when I was growing up! I can only encourage you to read or watch it if you haven’t 😊</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. July 14 1789 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have never played Assassin's Creed, I recommend you this short video of a leap of faith to understand what will be described in this chapter. Plus it has Notre-Dame in the background so it's pretty cool</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVYbByJ9qtM</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa huffed as she rolled to absorb the impact of her fall, and got back on her feet immediately. She knew that she should probably remain with Launay and make sure the Bastille fell without further incidents, but she was confident the populace, helped by the French Guards, would prevail. Catching the Templar before she could escape and finally getting some answers on who was leading them, why and how they were turning some of their comrades against the Brotherhood, and what they wanted was more pressing. Titus wouldn’t be pleased that she was taking such initiative, but even he couldn’t be stubborn enough to disagree. Furthermore, the masked woman was possibly the one responsible for Lexa’s unique failed mission, and the brunette had a score to settle. She would not, could not, fail again.</p><p>The two women were running around the inner part of the ramparts, jumping over crates and oblivious to the cannons and gunshots echoing at a short distance. When a small group of defenders suddenly appeared from one of the stairways, the Templar passed them and shouted without stopping, “There, an Assassin, arrest her!”</p><p>The governor Launay had to have briefed his men on the Rite’s role because the soldiers obeyed at once and placed themselves between the brunette and the running figure. Lexa gritted her teeth when she was forced to slow down and draw her sword. She assumed the Templar had ordered her arrest so that the men would try to disarm and tie her up rather than kill her, making the fight last longer. The green-eyed woman felt some guilt at the thought of ending the lives of men who weren’t trying to kill her, but she had no other choice than to face them. She couldn’t let her opponent escape again, and despite the situation they were in, they refused to back down. In the end, she opted for the quickest yet least deadly option. She retrieved a smoke bomb from one of her pockets and threw it in the middle of the soldiers. Surprised, they began coughing and wiping their eyes, allowing Lexa to subdue them without bloodshed. Jumping around, she knocked the men at the back of the skull as rapidly as she could. When the smoke dissipated, 20 seconds later, the 5 soldiers were lying on the ground, unconscious, and Lexa’s blade had remained sheathed. <em>For now, at least</em>, she thought before resuming her run.</p><p>The Templar had taken advantage of the distraction to flee and put more distance between herself and the Assassin tracking her. By the time Lexa arrived at the top of the outer rampart, she noticed the thin rope tied around a pole, and the small figure stepping on the ground at the bottom of the high wall. The masked woman seemingly thought she was safe when she turned around and waved Lexa goodbye, but the 19-year-old wasn’t one to give up easily. Noticing a large haystack almost directly vertically under her position, she stood on top of the parapet, stretched out her arms, and let herself fall. About midway through her leap of faith, her body turned, her feet passing over her head, and she landed on her back with a huff.</p><p>As much as she adored everything about being an Assassin, this method of jumping down buildings remained her favorite part. She could still remember the first leap of faith she had taken — the second if following Titus 11 years before counted as one — from <em>Pont Rouge</em>, the narrow bridge connecting <em>île Saint-Louis</em> and <em>île de la Cité</em>. She had still been a recruit at the time, a skinny girl of barely 13 years of age, and Anya and Lincoln had dragged her there one night and had dared her to jump into the Seine river. Not wanting to disappoint the two older teenagers who acted as older siblings, she agreed despite her fears and followed them onto the bridge, deserted at that late hour. After taking a deep breath, she stood over the railing and plummeted into the water. The jump wasn’t particularly elegant or well executed, but when she had emerged, sputtering and with the biggest grin ever, her two friends had cheered and congratulated her so much that the punishment bestowed on her by Titus the following morning had barely bothered her.   </p><p>Shaking herself to remove the straws of hay stuck in her hair and on her clothes, Lexa jumped back on her feet and took off after the fleeing Templar whose dark blue coat had just disappeared behind the corner of <em>rue du Petit-Musc</em>. Leaving the Bastille and the angry crowd behind her, the brunette ran through the emptier streets, her boots flying over the cobblestones. To her delight, she was slowly catching up with her target, meter after meter. The Assassin hadn’t paid much attention to the streets they were on, and it was only when they arrived in sight of the Seine that she realized that ironically the Templar was heading towards <em>île Saint-Louis</em> and the hideout. With a bit of luck, Anya or Lincoln would see them coming and move to intercept the woman.</p><p>Lexa could feel her legs getting heavier, and her lungs hurt every breath she took. The two of them had been sprinting for over 10 minutes, not to mention their run in the Bastille, and even with all her training and stubbornness, her body was starting to protest. She wouldn’t be able to carry on for much longer, and could only hope the Templar would collapse before she did. But the masked woman, whoever she was, didn’t seem to want to slow down or be captured, and she was running as if the Devil was on her heels.</p><p>They had sprinted along <em>Port Saint Paul</em> and <em>Quay des Ormes</em>, and stepped onto the <em>Pont Marie</em> when Lexa finally reached the limits of her patience and stamina. She had gotten so close that she could hear the Templar pants, and in an attempt to make the woman stop, she shot a sleeping dart at her. She still wanted to capture her opponent alive as much as possible and, remembering how the man in Versailles had swallowed poison after shooting at Mirabeau, she couldn’t take any chances. The dart flew over the Templar’s left shoulder, missing its target by mere centimeters, and hit the bridge’s railing, but it produced the desired effect. The woman stopped dead in her tracks, her hands held high.</p><p>“I am not here to fight you,” Lexa heard the figure say in a low and slightly distorted voice. “Let me go.”</p><p>“Don’t make another move,” the brunette growled, trying to catch her breath without making a sound. There was no need to let the Templar know that she was almost out of oxygen and encourage her to try running again. Exhausted as she was, the Assassin wasn’t sure she would be able to follow or reach her target with another dart.</p><p>To Lexa’s surprise, the masked figure obeyed and remained immobile, her fists tight and raised in the air. The brunette approached carefully; her phantom blade aimed at the middle of the woman’s back. Grabbing her right shoulder, the Assassin forced her opponent to spin around and, her weapon directed at the Templar’s sternum, she pulled the mask down. Her mouth fell open as she saw the face in front of her, unable to reconcile it with all her memories of the previous 16 months. Her subconscious had recognized the raspy voice, but her brain hadn’t been ready to admit what it meant or prepared her for the feeling of hurt and betrayal that washed over her as she took in the round face and the sapphire eyes staring back at her.</p><p>“Clarke.”</p><p>She hated how her own voice sounded small and broken in her ears, but she had to pick her battles, and at that moment, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes was hard enough. The blonde bit her underlip but remained silent, her eyes not wavering under the weight of Lexa’s viridian ones, and her arms still raised in surrender. The two of them stood there, on <em>Pont Marie</em>, silence thundering between them as the brunette was revisiting every interaction, every tender moment between them in her head, and wondering how she could have been so blind not to realize that her lover had found a reason to leave the hideout during Sinclair’s murder, and several times before that, most certainly to communicate with her allies. That she was the very person Lexa was fighting against. A Templar.</p><p>Lexa broke out of her dazed state when she noticed Clarke look to the side with a frown. Turning around slightly, the Assassin saw the navy-blue-clad figures stepping onto <em>Pont Marie</em>. More Templars. She had missed her chance to fight Clarke and try to take her in and now, outnumbered as she was about to be, she ought to flee toward the hideout and call for help. Lexa knew that if she didn’t leave in the next few seconds, they would kill her. And yet, she stayed rooted, face-to-face with Clarke, unable to move. How could she take a step in any direction when her heart, the very organ responsible for sending blood all around her body and activate her muscles, had been torn out of her chest? How ironic was it that the person who owned it, who had saved her life and treated her wounds, was now the one who had inflicted the most mortal of them all?</p><p>Lexa took half a step back, away from Clarke, and let her arms fall by her sides, slightly open, palms facing the blonde. Had her hidden blade retracted of its own accord or had she done it herself? She hadn’t even realized. She could see the other Templars get closer, pistols in their hands, and she didn’t care. She was tired, so tired of this life, of all this violence, all this blood, all the betrayals and hurt. Resigned, she stared at her lover with pain seeping through her emerald orbs, as if to say, <em>Go ahead, I will not fight you.</em></p><p>Clarke lowered her hands and looked at her allies once more, and then over Lexa’s shoulder, toward the river and the bank of <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, lost in thoughts. After a moment, she inched herself closer to the thunderstruck Assassin until her lips were by a small ear, and whispered, “I am sorry, Lexa. I hope you will forgive me.”</p><p>The brunette was so lost in her own head, pondering over the words, that she didn’t immediately feel the burst of pain coming from the top side of her left breast, just under the clavicle. It was only when the sharp burning sensation became unbearable that she lowered her eyes and noticed the guard of a stiletto protruding from her chest, and she groaned in pain. She expected the blonde to pull out the blade and finish her, a small mercy after everything, but instead, Clarke pushed her toward the edge of the bridge, with a touch that could have almost been described as gentle, until Lexa toppled over the railing. The last thing she saw was the face of the woman she loved staring at her with sadness written on her stunning features before the cold and murky water of the Seine swallowed her in a dark embrace.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>End of what I consider Part 1 of this story. Be honest, did you see the twist coming, or did I manage to surprise you? I advise you to reread the previous chapters, see if you can find the clues that there was more to Clarke than what meets the eye. I’d love it if you could comment here, but please keep the previous chapters' comment section free of spoilers!</p><p>Now that the cat is out of the bag, parts 2 and 3 will include several other POVs, not only Lexa’s, and we are finally going to meet the rest of the Delinquents!</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. July 16 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to the second part of this story! 😃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whispers, and a strong, pungent smell of herbs and blood. That was what Lexa woke up to, and in her dazed state, it took her a moment to recognize the dark ceiling above her head. The infirmary of the hideout. Confused, she attempted to lift herself on her elbows, but a sharp pain coming from her left side made her grunt, and she fell back against the pillow.</p><p>“Lexa! You are awake,” Luna cried out, alerted by the noise her patient had just made. “Don’t try to move yet, you were seriously injured. I will let the others know.”</p><p>And without another word, the curly-haired healer exited the room, leaving the brunette to organize her thoughts. She immediately remembered the crowd attacking the Bastille and her own actions there — had the old prison fallen in the end? However, it took her longer to recall the events on <em>Pont Marie</em>, and when she did, her breath hitched and, at first, she tried to convince herself that it had only been a nightmare. But what else could explain Clarke’s absence? The blonde used to spend most of her time in the infirmary and, Lexa dared to believe, with the brunette confined to a bed, if the young physician was still around, she would have been by her side, waiting for Lexa to wake up. The Clarke-shaped hole in her heart made itself known at once, and the 19-year-old — or was she 20 now, which day was today? — let a sob escape her dry pouty lips. She could only imagine what Titus was going to say, and she didn’t know if she could survive hearing of the kill order that had surely been issued against the blonde spy. What if the other Assassins had already found Clarke? How long had she been unconscious?</p><p>Some of her questions found their answer when Luna returned, a few minutes later, followed by Anya and Lincoln. The council had been informed of the change in her situation, but they were in a meeting and would visit her later. Her siblings by heart, if not by blood, strode inside the room and took place by her bed, one on each side, relief obvious on their faces.</p><p>“Lex, how are you feeling?” Lincoln asked, and the brunette had never been so happy to hear his bass voice. “You scared us, <em>petite sœur</em>.”</p><p>“I’m OK. My chest hurts, and I feel a little dizzy, and hungry, but OK. What happened?”</p><p>“Linc and I were patrolling by the riverbank, on this side of the water, when we saw you wrestle with a Templar. When you fell over the bridge, Lincoln jumped in and pulled you out of the water while I made sure they didn’t continue their attack. Thankfully, they retreated right away and we carried you back here.”</p><p>“You were very lucky Lex,” Lincoln took over, “the blade missed your heart. A few centimeters lower and it would have been a very different story.”</p><p>The statement made the brunette pause, a realization appearing at the back of her mind. Before she could complete her reasoning, Anya interrupted with a cold voice.</p><p>“Did you see who stabbed you?”</p><p>“I—no, I didn’t,” the green-eyed Assassin lied, her eyes looking to the side as she couldn’t face her best friend. “They had a mask, and it all went so fast.”</p><p>“Lex…” Anya replied, and when she heard the blatant disappointment in the blonde’s voice, Lexa knew that she had made the wrong choice and failed her friend’s test. “We know it was Clarke. Both of us recognized her, despite the distance when she stared at us. Why would you still try to protect her? Clearly, she was lying to us, to you. She used you, damn it!”</p><p>Lincoln sighed and shook his head at Anya, asking her to calm down without saying a word, before he placed one of his large hands on Lexa’s arm and squeezed it gently.</p><p>“We are both worried about you, Lexa. You were seriously injured; you could have been killed. If we are being honest, from where we were standing, it looked like you didn’t even try to fight back. You let Clarke stab you, and now, despite everything, you still tried to hide her true identity. Why?”</p><p>“Because I love her,” the brunette breathed out, ignoring Anya’s scoff and the pity in Lincoln’s eyes. All of them had been taught that feelings were weakness, and for the first time in years, she was starting to understand why Titus had made this his mantra. And yet, somehow, a part of her stubborn, battered heart refused to give up. Staring at her friends with renewed strength, she continued. “I don’t think she was trying to kill me.”</p><p>“You must be joking?!” Anya growled, her patience wearing thin. “She stabbed you in the chest. What more proof do you need?”</p><p>“That’s the thing, it makes no sense that she would miss. I wasn’t defending myself,” Lexa admitted with a quiver in her voice, before continuing more valiantly, “and she is a trained physician. An excellent one, might I add, as we’ve all experienced. She knows perfectly well where the heart is and, if she had wanted to kill me, she would have. She could have twisted the blade around, or pulled it out and let me bleed to death. I understand your concerns, I do, but she chose to let me live, I am certain of that.”</p><p>Before Anya could retort, Lincoln lifted a hand to silence her. He remained quiet for a moment, pondering over Lexa’s argument, before saying, “I agree. With everything we now know about her, it is strange that she would miss.”</p><p>“Not you too!” the blonde growled, frustrated at the turn the conversation had taken. She knew Lexa had been head over heels for the girl, and she would need time to sort out her feelings and get over it. But she had expected the shaved-headed man to be more reasonable. After a long minute, she spoke again. “Whether she voluntarily spared you or not, she was here to spy on us. We need to tell Titus and the council about it.”</p><p>“You haven’t told them yet?” Lexa asked, surprised at that information. “How long was I even unconscious?”</p><p>“For two days. And <em>we</em> decided to wait until you could tell us what happened on the bridge before doing anything,” Lincoln answered, and his pointed stare at Anya led the brunette to assume that maybe the decision hadn’t been entirely mutual.</p><p>“For now,” the man continued, “everyone thinks that Clarke is staying with her mother, as she said on the 13<sup>th</sup>. That gives us time to go over exactly how we will explain this to the council.”</p><p>“Could you give me a few days?” Lexa pleaded, not ready to face Titus’s ire and Indra and Gustus’s disappointment.</p><p>“Lex…” her almond-eyed friend warned her. “We have to tell them. And if you assume that we’ll let you go out and look for her, then you must have hit your head harder than we thought. There is no way you’re going to meet her, not after everything.”</p><p>“Anya, please. Give me a few days, OK? You said that she saw you too, right? So, she is going to assume that everybody knows she’s a Templar by now. She won’t come back here. Telling the council now or later won’t make a difference. I just—I can’t talk about it, about her yet. Titus will tear me apart over this, question every single moment we spent together and I need more time to prepare myself.”</p><p>“Fine,” the lean blonde relented, more moved than she cared to admit by the anguish in the green eyes. “A few days, so you can recover from your wound and think about how you’re going to explain this fiasco to the council. But I’m warning you, if I cross paths with Clarke in the meantime, my sword will end up in her stomach.”</p><p>Lexa wanted to argue against any rash actions, but a look from Lincoln made her keep her mouth shut. The man had always been a great diplomate, balancing Anya’s impetuous nature and Lexa’s stubbornness with his calm attitude. He knew both of them well by now, and going against the brown-eyed Assassin would only antagonize her further. With a sigh, the brunette nodded and let her head fall back against the pillow. Exhausted, she fell asleep not long after, unaware that her two friends remained by her side for hours, relieved to see that she was still breathing.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Ten days later, Lexa, who had just turned 20, was finally able to leave the hideout. She had recovered well from her injury, thanks to Luna and Lincoln’s help. Her shoulder hurt when she tried to move it, but she could walk without feeling dizzy or weak. Despite Anya’s insistence, she hadn’t talked to Titus yet. Her head was pushing her to come clean and reveal the blonde’s true identity, but her heart wasn’t quite ready to accept that their relationship was over and that Clarke wasn’t coming back.</p><p>Taking advantage of her older sister figure’s absence — the almond-eyed woman and her Second had been sent on a mission in the west side of Paris and they weren’t expecting them back before supper — Lexa exited <em>île Saint-Louis </em>unaccompanied. The brunette understood why her two best friends were worried about her, and rationally, it made sense. But they had been hovering around her ever since she had regained consciousness, and it was getting frustrating. The young woman needed answers, and the only person who could provide them was the one she was forbidden to seek out. Hence Lexa’s discreet exit, her hair hidden under a worn brown coat non-typical of the Brotherhood.</p><p>The 20-year-old knew that the house <em>rue du Four</em> would be empty by now, so she needed a different plan. Going through all her interactions with Clarke in her head, it took her only a few moments to realize where she had a good chance of finding the blonde whom she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. In her weakened state, the walk would take too long, and she borrowed a horse from a nearby stable. She had to ride slowly to avoid pulling at her healing skin, but she managed to reach her destination in less than an hour. Now that the King had removed the troops from around Paris and called back Necker, the capital was calmer than it had been 12 days prior.</p><p>Above her, the hill of Montmartre was dominating the scenery, with the church at its top overlooking Paris. She had remembered that this was Clarke’s favorite view of the city and one that she had painted many times. She had come here in hopes that, if the blonde wanted to speak to her, it was where she would be. There was also a small chance that this was a trap, but Lexa didn’t let the thought linger and spurred her mount forward. Once they had reached the top, the brunette tied the reins around a pole and looked around.</p><p>The blonde was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment, Lexa felt disappointment pool in her stomach. She was about to retrace her steps when, struck by an idea, she looked up. On top of the church <em>Saint-Pierre de Montmartre</em>, she could see boots sticking out of the roof. The Assassins weren’t the only ones who liked high places, and the thought made her smile despite everything. In a normal situation, Lexa would have loved nothing more than to climb the walls of the church, but, mindful of her injury, she opted for a more common approach for once. She slipped inside the building, thankfully deserted after all the agitation in Paris and around the city, and found the stairs leading to the upper part. Opening the door that led to the roof proved harder than she had anticipated, but she managed to pick the lock after several minutes. Then, she quietly stepped onto the roof, her eyes not leaving the profile half covered by a navy-blue hooded coat.</p><p>The figure remained immobile, but she had noticed the Assassin’s presence. Of course, she had. She was a trainer killer too after all, and a damn good one if Lexa’s experience is anything to go by. Still, out of courtesy if nothing else, the brunette showed her unarmed hands and called for her attention.</p><p>“Clarke.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>petite sœur = little sister</p><p>You can’t ride horses in Assassin’s Creed Unity, which sucks, so here you go, I fixed it hehe! In reality, the noblemen moved around in private carriages, and the soldiers had their horses. The populace had to walk around, and there probably weren’t many stables inside the city.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. July 26 1789 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lexa,” the raspy voice responded, and if Lexa thought she would be ready to hear it again without flinching, she was wrong. She had prepared herself for fear, disappointment, possibly guilt, but it was the relief on Clarke’s face that was nearly her undoing and forced her to steady herself before continuing.</p><p>“You lied to me.”</p><p>Straight to the point, emotionless. That was the only way she might survive this encounter, the questions and explanations she was seeking, all while ignoring her bleeding heart. If nothing else, Clarke owed her answers, and she was hell-bent on getting them out of her. She couldn't let herself get distracted by those beautiful and sad blue eyes.</p><p>“I did,” the blonde conceded easily. There was no point in denying the painful truth, and the brunette was grateful for the admission.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why did I lie to you?”</p><p>“No,” Lexa shook her head in frustration. “I can guess why you lied to me. You did it so you could use me to get inside our hideout. I meant, why did you do it? If Titus had found out who you truly are, your death would not have been a kind one.”</p><p>“I know, but I had to take my chances. I have been looking for information on our Grandmaster’s murder for over three years. I had to try, no matter how dangerous it was.”</p><p>“De la Serre? But why there? His death had nothing to do with us, we had a truce back then. Arno would never have ordered him to be killed. And besides, why did you risk your life just so you could find more about it?”</p><p>“He was my father.”</p><p>Whatever Lexa had expected, it wasn’t that. At all. She swallowed back whatever comment she had wanted to make and sat silently, a meter or so away from the Templar. She knew that she should remain on her guard, but even after everything, she felt weirdly safe with Clarke. The blonde had had the perfect occasion to kill her back after their encounter at the <em>Bastille</em>, and she had spared her. As complicated as their situation was, she didn’t think her life was in danger. The cerulean eyes that looked at her after a moment were shining in the sunlight, although the blonde didn’t let a single tear fall.</p><p>“There was never a Clarke Griffon, was there?” the Assassin eventually asked, shaking her head. “I am such a fool.”</p><p>“No, there wasn’t, not officially at least. The only mention of a Clarke Griffon is on the rent agreement I signed for my house <em>rue du Four </em>while thinking about our coat of arms, which features a sable griffin. My real name is Clarke Elizabeth de la Serre.”</p><p>“Were you in on it with the man you injured me that time, near your house?”</p><p>“No,” Clarke frowned as if she remembered something. “I don’t know who injured you, but it wasn’t one of us. You mentioned the name Carl before, right? There is no one with such a name or nickname among the Parisian Rite, and we never ordered Brissot’s murder. I inquired after hearing about it from you. Whoever that man was, he wasn’t one of us, I swear. My friend Wells and I found you lying in your own blood on the street and recognized you as an Assassin right away. He wanted to leave you to die, but I realized that you could be my way into your Order, and forced him to carry you to my place so I could heal you.”</p><p>“And then you used me, befriended me, and went as far as to sleep with me so you could gain access to our lair and find out the information you were looking for,” the 20-year-old summarized bitterly, and she would be damned if those angry tears leaked from her eyes. She ground her teeth hard and hoped the blonde wouldn’t notice how weak she was being.</p><p>“Lex… It’s not—It’s more complicated than that,” Clarke sighed, trying to organize her thoughts. “I did befriend you with an ulterior motive, but I truly enjoyed our time together. After a few weeks, I was myself when I was with you, I wasn’t faking anything. I hid my true purpose from you, but everything else was real.”</p><p>“Why should I believe? How do you actually expect me to believe you when you have been lying to me and using me from the start?” the brunette replied, half-shouting, and if Titus could see her right now, he would tut at how emotional she was letting herself be.</p><p>“You were never attacked, were you?” she asked after a pause, connecting the dots as the conversation went on. “It was a fake so I would feel forced to protect you.”</p><p>“Yes,” the expected answer came, and Lexa’s heart constricted in her chest at the admission. “You took your distances after Anya found out about us and I had to come up with a different approach. After a few days, I noticed that you were checking up on me, but you didn’t visit anymore. On the day of the riot last June, I saw you on the rooftop, and I said I had hurt my ankle so you would accompany me back home and we would talk again. It wasn’t enough, though, so a few weeks later, Bellamy pretended to attack me, leaving you with no other choice but to bring me to your hideout and protect me from the Templars.”</p><p>“I tried to stay away from you,” Lexa broke the silence after a moment, her voice quivering under the weight of all the revelations, “I thought that I was putting you in danger by allowing myself a selfish beacon of normalcy. After the fake attack, I hated myself for tearing out away from your life, and yet at the same time, I was elated to be able to spend more time with you. What a damn idiot.”</p><p>“I am sorry, Lexa. I am truly sorry for everything I put you through,” the blonde said, her head hung low in shame and her voice quivering. “The more I got to know you, the more I realized what a kind, wonderful person you are, and I felt terrible about lying to you. Despite our friendship, I continued to do so because I had to find out what happened to my father, even though in the end it was all for nothing. But you are wrong about one thing. I didn’t start sleeping with you so I could use you. I was already inside anyway; I didn’t need to take it that far. I did it because I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you, or from falling for you.”</p><p>The confession made Lexa’s breath hitch, and she had to wipe her eyes with her sleeve to hide the tear that had rolled down her cheek. She had witnessed first-hand what a talented actress Clarke could be, and yet she wanted to believe her. A small part of her <em>needed</em> to believe those words, to think that maybe she wasn’t the only one who was being torn apart by their situation. That their relationship — could it still be called that when it was based on lies and duplicity? — hadn’t been a total sham. Because the contrary would truly break her beyond repair.</p><p>“Don’t,” she eventually replied. “Don’t say those things. Not now. Not after everything. Don’t pretend to care, please.”</p><p>“If it makes it easier for you to believe everything was false, I can understand,” Clarke whispered as she made no move to hide her own tears. “But I did care. I <em>do</em> care. I didn’t have to save Anya’s life, you know? It made my life easier and Titus trusted me more after it, but a heartfelt attempt would have been enough. I saved her because she is like a sister to you, and losing her would have broken you. And even after I learned that she had killed Finn, I still made sure she recovered, for you.”</p><p>“Finn? Who is—he was the Templar who injured and poisoned her, wasn’t he?”</p><p>“Yes. He was my friend. We trained together for years, and when we moved to Paris, he chose to follow and be a part of my team. When you and Anya left that day, I didn’t know about your target. I only found out the day after.”</p><p>“The day you were crying, near <em>Sainte-Geneviève</em>,” Lexa realized aloud. “You said that you had seen a dead child—”</p><p>“That was true. I didn’t make it up, there was a dead girl on the streets who made me think of you and it broke my heart. It just happened that I was already crying for my friend.”</p><p>“I am sorry for your loss,” Lexa eventually replied, because, apparently, they weren’t lying to each other anymore, and she was. The dark-haired man might have been a murderer and her enemy, he had clearly counted for the blonde, and it saddened the brunette to know that she had played a part in her sorrow.</p><p>“He wasn’t the man I had known anymore,” Clarke uttered once she had regained her composure. “Think what you want of us and our Order, we don’t kill innocent people, and certainly not children. I am not sure what happened, but he had lost his way. If you hadn’t done it, one of us probably would have eventually. I grieved for him, for the man I grew up with, not for whom he had become.”</p><p>The two women sat side by side in silence for a long time, coming to terms with everything that had been said. Lexa felt as if her chest had been cut open, stitched, and she was now trying to get over it. And yet, as painful as it might be, the conversation had brought her some comfort. It was better to remove the gangrening flesh than to let it fester, right? As much as it hurt to hear Clarke admit that she had used her, it was better than leaving all interpretation of the events of the past year to her imagination. It tended to paint a rather dark picture when she did.</p><p>“How about Octavia? What happened to her?” the brunette asked, remembering the young brunette who had disappeared weeks before. Had she been a mole too?</p><p>“She is fine. Bellamy and some of our friends were the ones who kidnapped her during her mission. He brought her to our headquarters and explained everything to her, and we offered her a role in our organization. In all honesty, she was not happy about it and smacked him around the head. She remains with us, but she refuses to go on missions, lest she might have to fight one of you.”</p><p>“I see. I am glad to hear she is safe,” Lexa commented, relieved to hear that Octavia had been sincere. She couldn’t imagine how Indra would have reacted if she had learned that her Second was Templar. The dark-skinned woman wasn’t known to open up easily, and she had truly gotten attached to the girl. The brunette knew that despite her pretend indifference, the older Assassin was blaming herself for Octavia’s disappearance and would be relieved to hear that she was still alive.</p><p>“Where does that leave us, then?” the brunette interrupted the silence once more. “I didn't come here to fight you, but you are a Templar and I am an Assassin. If we both remain in Paris, we are bound to meet during some of our missions, and we will be on opposite sides. Are you planning on stabbing me again if that happens?”</p><p>“I… I don’t want to hurt you, Lexa. Or Lincoln, or Tris. Or even Anya, though I have a feeling she does not share my sentiment. I didn’t have a choice that day, on <em>Pont Marie</em>…”</p><p>“There were other members of the Rite nearby and they would have killed me or expected you to, so you faked my death,” Lexa finished for her. “I kind of figured that one out myself. Ironically, I am angrier at you for using me than for stabbing me. The latter, given the circumstances that day, I can understand. It was a smart plan. Dangerous, but smart. If the situation had been reversed, I might have done the same.”</p><p>“I don’t ever want to find myself in a similar situation again. But I can’t leave Paris either. Who knows what’s going to happen here in the coming months? We have a role to play, and I can’t abandon my friends, my family,” the blonde muttered with a sad look in her dark blue eyes.</p><p>“So what? We hope that we won’t run into each other out there, and if we do, we turn back and don’t interfere with our respective missions? What if I have to kill someone you want to protect or vice versa?”</p><p>“We flip a coin?” the blonde attempted to joke, though her heart wasn’t in it. “I don’t know, Lexa. We will figure it out? I don’t want to be your enemy. I can’t—I don’t want to be.”</p><p>“OK,” the brunette replied, because what else was there to say? The meter that separated them felt like a chasm, an unsurmountable obstacle between two persons who couldn’t be on more opposite sides. And yet, somewhere deep inside of her, a flicker of hope remained. If they had managed not to attack each other so far, maybe one day they would be able to get over their differences and find their way back before the distance and circumstances killed what had been. That was, of course, if they could survive the Revolution that was playing around them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope this chapter clears most of what has happened in the first part of this fic. The missing part is Carl and the Mountain Men, who will appear soon. If you reread this story to see how it is all connected, I encourage you to pay attention to the clothing, and particularly the colors worn by Lexa’s enemies. You will notice that there is more than one group involved. </p><p>I sometimes refer to their age, so just in case, here are the details:<br/>- Lexa / Alexandra Dubois: born on July  20th 1769<br/>- Clarke Elizabeth de la Serre: born on October 24th 1770</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. July 26th 1789 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I spent the last few days reflecting on what writing fanfics means to me, and here is the conclusion I arrived at:</p><p>Posting them here is fun, and I love interacting with all of you, hearing your thoughts on the latest chapters of my stories, joking around, and such. But, ultimately, I write for myself. I create the stories that I want to read because they don't exist yet. You are the passengers who go on this journey with me for free, under the tacit agreement that you invest some of your time and emotions in it and pat me on the back from time to time with a kudo and/or a comment, and in exchange, I do my best not to write anything offensive or completely out of character. Comments pointing out inconsistencies or errors, such as some I received before about the size of the cannons that would tear the small ship apart, or an injury that would have been mortal and not simply life-threatening are welcome and encouraged. However, critics concerning the characters' psyche or the way they interact with one another are not.</p><p>As a person, I have no interest in hatred and shouting matches. As a reader, I usually steer clear of stories that have too many of those, so I will certainly not write one myself. It might seem like Lexa is forgiving Clarke too easily here, but for me, it's not the case. First, because not wanting revenge is not necessarily the same thing as forgiveness, and second, because in my head Lexa understands why Clarke did what she did, even if it hurt her. So this story will move forward, and though they will need some time to get back together, they will.</p><p>If you can't get on board with this, then please quietly get off the metaphorical bus and don't ruin the journey for me or the rest of the readers. There are plenty of amazing stories on this site, I'm sure you'll find one that suits you better.<br/>If you can, that's great and I hope you will enjoy this chapter and the future ones. I'm excited to have Lexa and Co. interact with the young Templars/Delinquents soon! 😃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa left not long after, the “Goodbye” dying on her lips when Clarke looked at her with sad eyes but made no move to stop her. She wasn’t sure what would be worse; never seeing the beautiful blonde again, or crossing paths with her during a mission. Despite everything that had happened and the sting of betrayal still very much present, she couldn’t imagine the physician being out of her life for good. The metaphorical wound Clarke had inflicted would take longer to heal than the physical one, and yet, the thought of losing her for good hurt even more. But what other chances would they have to meet than out there, on the Parisian streets, with the weight of the rivalry between their people crushing any hope of a relationship?</p><p>The brunette walked down the church’s empty corridors once more, and when she found herself back on the ground, Paris stretching before her eyes, she let you a long sigh. Talking with Clarke had helped, in a way. It had confirmed what Lexa had already known or at least hoped for. Her feelings weren’t unrequited or ridiculous, and the blonde didn’t want to fight her either. How they would be able to manage that remained to be determined, however, and the notion was giving her a headache.</p><p>Lexa untied her mount and hauled herself on its back, mindful of her injury. It was healing well, and Luna wouldn’t be pleased to hear that she had pulled a stitch while being out on a non-existing mission. If Titus heard of it, she would be in for a world of trouble, especially if Anya or Lincoln spilled the beans regarding the identity of the Templar who had stabbed her. Lost in thoughts, the 20-year-old didn’t immediately notice the figure following her on a horse, and she chastised herself for her distraction.</p><p>“Anya? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be away today.”</p><p>“Clearly,” the tall blonde seethed. “Do you want to tell me what this was about? I saw you on the rooftop with Clarke, looking all cozy.”</p><p>“I had to talk to her An,” Lexa answered weakly, begging her friend to understand. “I needed this conversation, I needed to understand why she did what she did.”</p><p>“Are you happy now? Can we go back and kill her?”</p><p>“No!” the brunette shouted, ignoring the anger and disappointment on Anya’s face. For all the loyalty and kindness that the almond-eyed woman possessed, she could also hold grudges better than anyone else. And hurting Lexa was definitely a good way to end on her bad side. “She—we are not enemies.”</p><p>“Lex… She is a Templar. She is your enemy, whether you want it or not. Look at what she did. Maybe she wasn’t actively trying to kill you, but her friends would have. This is madness!”</p><p>“I know,” the brunette cried out, before lowering her voice to avoid attracting too much attention. “I'm not ready to forgive her yet, but I don’t want to hurt her, An. And if you care about me, you won’t either.”</p><p>In an attempt to placate her friend’s anger, Lexa summarized the content of her conversation with Clarke and their agreement not to interfere, as much as possible, with each other’s missions. The brown-eyed woman nearly fell off her horse when she heard that the blonde was, in fact, the daughter of the previous Templar Grandmaster.</p><p>“<em>Merde</em>, this is even worse than I thought. If we tell Titus about all this, he’s never going to trust you again, and we’ll have an all-out war on our hands,” the blonde sighed before pinching the bridge of her nose. “He hated the truce with the Parisian Rite and was very vocal against it. If as you said, Clarke is Jacques de la Serre’s daughter, then killing her would be a sure way to guarantee no such deal will be made any time soon. He will jump on the occasion, no matter the cost.”</p><p>“Anya, you can’t tell him,” Lexa pleaded, and she was getting tired of all these emotional conversations. All she wanted right now was to curl into her bed and sleep for a week. Maybe by the time she woke, the world would be back to normal. Or at least, back to what it had been weeks before when she was obliviously happy.</p><p>“I won’t, for now. Not just to spare your heart,” the blonde warned, still annoyed to see the woman she considered like a younger sister lost and irrational, “but because I don’t think an open conflict with the Rite is the solution. We have already so much on our hands with everything that has been happening, your little Shakespearian tragedy can wait. But listen very carefully: if Clarke hurts you, or anyone else I care about, I will hunt her down myself. Are we clear?”</p><p>The brunette nodded without saying a word, thankful that, at least for the time being, Anya had agreed to keep her mouth shut. She knew that it wasn’t a perfect solution, or much of a solution at all, but she needed more time to decide what to do about Clarke and her feelings for the blonde. There was a chance that other Assassins might face the Templar and discover her identity, but it was a risk she had to take for now.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>On top of <em>Saint-Pierre de Montmartre</em>, Clarke remained sitting, her eyes roaming over the scenery she wasn’t taking in, too lost in thoughts to appreciate it. Seeing Lexa again, alive and well, had lifted her spirit. She had barely slept ever since the 14<sup>th</sup>, wondering over and over if she had killed the woman she loved. She knew that the injury inflicted wasn’t mortal, but so many things could have still gone wrong. The water of the Seine was dirty and Lexa could have developed an infection. Luna and Lincoln were good healers, but they didn’t have her mother’s talent or even her own. What if they had messed up and accidentally killed Lexa? Or what if Titus, upon hearing that the brunette had led a Templar into their hideout, had ordered her death? The bald man was attached to Lexa, but Clarke still wouldn’t put it past him to exert his vengeance on his protege. And yet, despite the relief brought by the knowledge that Lexa was recovering and didn’t seem to want to kill her, their situation remained inextricable. Fighting on opposite sides of an interminable war, their ideologies on two ends of the spectrum, how could things end well between them?</p><p>The sound of footsteps came from behind her, and for a second she thought Lexa had come back. She had to force herself to remain impassive and hide the slight disappointment at the sight of her friend, a slim and attractive dark-haired woman with tan skin and intelligent brown eyes.</p><p>“Raven? Is something wrong? I said that I would return to <em>Le Temple</em> in a few hours, there is no need to check up on me.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” the woman replied, sarcasm evident in her voice. “So, I guess it doesn’t matter that I saw you with that Assassin, Lexa, was it? What the hell were you thinking, Clarke, coming back here? She could have killed you.”</p><p>“She wouldn’t do that,” the blonde shrugged, hoping that her friend wouldn’t notice the small hesitation in her voice. Truth be told, she hadn’t been sure at first that Lexa wouldn’t try to kill her. She had seen the Assassin approach the church and could have tried to hide, but she needed to explain herself, to make the brunette understand why she had lied to her and gone as far as to stab her. Not that there was really an acceptable excuse for the latter. And maybe, a tiny part of her knew that, if Lexa had wanted her revenge, Clarke wouldn’t have defended herself.</p><p>“Fine, maybe lover girl wouldn’t,” the black-haired Templar huffed, “but how about her friend, the other Assassin I spotted watching you two?”</p><p>“What other Assassin?” Clarke asked, surprised. Distracted by Lexa as she had been, she hadn’t noticed any other threat around. If Kane, her mentor, heard of this, he would make her train until she passed out. The man, who had been friends with her parents for decades and had taken her under his wing as soon as she was old enough, loved her like a daughter. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was decided to ensure her survival by forcing her to go through a regimen of physical exercises that would make the soldiers of His Majesty beg for mercy.</p><p>“A woman, tall and lean, with Asian ancestry and sharp cheekbones.”</p><p>“Anya,” the blonde thought out loud, and she almost fell from the roof when Raven jumped back on her feet next to her, with furor in her eyes.</p><p>“Anya? The woman who killed Finn?” she growled, and Clarke barely had time to catch a slender wrist to stop her companion from climbing down the church’s façade and running after the two Assassins.</p><p>“Raven, don’t. They are probably far away already. Besides, it’s a good thing you didn’t know and attacked her, even when she was alone. I’ve seen her train; she is an incredible fighter. I don’t think I could take her; you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”</p><p>“I would like to see her try to survive one of my bombs,” the woman muttered before scowling at the physician. “Would you even help me take her down if we got the chance? I swear, I don’t understand you anymore. She killed Finn, my lover, <em>your</em> friend, and you act like it’s nothing. I get why you had to protect your cover and heal her, but seriously, why haven’t we killed her since? With everything you have learned about her and the Assassins, it should be easy enough to set a trap.”</p><p>“Raven…” Clarke sighed, biting her lips while she pondered how to make the woman see reason. “I haven’t forgotten that she killed Finn. But the Assassins were right, he murdered people, innocents, even children. I led my own investigation after his death and arrived at the same conclusion that they had. He had lost his way; he wasn’t the man we knew anymore.”</p><p>“I’m sorry you lost him,” she added before hugging her friend whose tears were rolling down her cheeks. “I miss him too, so much. I wish we could have stopped him before he started down that dark path. But you can’t blame Anya for following her orders and putting an end to his actions. Please, don’t try to seek revenge. It will only make things worse, and we can’t afford to lose you too. <em>I</em> don’t want to lose you.”</p><p>“Fine,” Raven shook her head hard enough to send a tear flying onto the blonde’s skin. “I will stay away from her, for now. But you should be more careful too. I can’t imagine she was too happy to find out who you are and see you stab her friend. Lexa might not want your death, but I saw the way Anya looked toward you, she was absolutely fuming. She won’t hesitate to put her blade through your neck if given the chance.”</p><p>“I know, Raven. You’re right, I will be more careful. So far, none of our contacts has heard about a kill order on me, but I can’t imagine I’m much in their Master Assassin’s good books right now. I trust Lexa, but her friends surely want my head, and I don’t want to have to fight them if I can avoid it.”</p><p>“In truth, no matter how insane this whole situation is, I can understand how you got close to some of them after living in their lair for months. But at some point, you’re going to have to make a choice, Clarke. They are our enemies, and there will come a time when you’ll find yourself on a mission and they’ll try to stop you, possibly kill you. What are you going to do then?”</p><p>“I have no idea, Raven,” the blonde admitted. “None.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>merde = shit  </p><p>Le Temple, or la maison du Temple (The Temple house) was an estate given to the Templars around 1170 and renovated several times since. In AC Unity, it serves as the HQ of the Parisian Rite of the Templar Order. IRL, it was nationalized in 1790 and served as a prison. The royal family was kept there from 1792 till their execution in 1793. The Crown Prince died there in 1795. Only the Princess, Marie-Thérèse de France, survived and is released in December 1795.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. August 5 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week or so after her conversations with Lexa and Raven, Clarke was enjoying a walk around <em>Le Temple</em>, accompanied by Wells and Bellamy. Ever since the blonde had left the Assassins’ hideout and her identity had been discovered, her friends refused to let her go out on her own. They made a point to join her every time she passed the gate of <em>Le Temple</em>, looking left and right to make sure no hooded figure tried to kill her. Though she appreciated their solicitude, it was getting on her nerves at a rapid rate, and she missed her freedom of the previous months. She had had to use all her tricks to evade them before, which was how she had managed to meet Lexa alone — or at least, she had thought herself alone that day, unaware that Raven had eventually caught up. But since her encounter with the beautiful brunette, her friends had grown more worried about her safety, and always accompanied her in pairs.</p><p>Abigail, her mother, was of course supportive of this new arrangement. Clarke knew her well, after all, they were pretty similar — as her beloved father had loved to say — which was why she hadn’t told Abby for weeks about rescuing and treating an Assassin. She only had done so once she was certain her plan was going somewhere. And even then, she didn’t tell her mother about her little stunt with Bellamy that would allow her to be invited into the Assassins’ hideout. The older physician was absolutely frantic upon learning that Clarke was living under <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, and during the blonde’s first visit, she considered locking her inside the Templar headquarters to stop her from returning to their sworn enemies. It took Clarke hours and all her might to convince her mother that she wasn’t in any immediate danger and that Lexa wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She had, of course, kept her relationship with the brunette a secret, only mentioning that they were on friendly terms, but her close friends had seen right through the lie by omission and questioned her about it.</p><p>And then there was Octavia. If she was honest, the young brunette was a thorn in Clarke’s side. Since her “kidnapping”, she refused to take part in any mission or meetings. All she did was train and sulk. She didn’t agree with some of the Templars’ principles and didn’t hesitate to make it known. She was also rather vocal about missing Lincoln, her lover, and swore to do terrible things to those who would dare hurt the gentle giant — not that Clarke would disagree with that last part, she had grown fond of the dark-skinned man herself during her time at <em>île Saint-Louis</em>. Upon the blonde’s return at <em>Le Temple</em>, once Octavia had learned of her true identity, the girl, who had recently turned 18, had punched Clarke square in the jaw, fuming at the betrayal. Bellamy had placed himself between them and stopped the quarrel, but Octavia’s words at how she had used Lexa and broken her heart still echoed in the blonde’s mind. And they hurt far more than any punch ever could. Since that day, the two women had silently agreed not to find themselves in the same room for more than a few minutes, and never alone.</p><p>Despite the Great Fear, a general panic that took place in several cities of France when peasants, fearing a famine, took the arms and attacked several manor houses, Paris was calmer than it had been in July. The Templars hadn’t come to terms with the fall of the Bastille and the direction taken by the Estates General, and Thelonius Jaha was beside himself. The Parisians, however, were pleased with the return of Necker and the abolition of the privileges voted the day before by the National Assembly. The King’s visit, on July 17<sup>th</sup>, had done much to appease the crowd. The Parisians had even shouted “Vive le Roi” at the sight of the blue and red cockade, the colors of the capital, on his hat; something that hadn’t been heard in many months. Which was why, on that hot day of August, Clarke was happy to escape the heavy atmosphere of <em>Le Temple </em>and stroll down the neighboring streets, even with her two unofficial bodyguards.</p><p>They had made it to <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em>, about halfway between <em>Le Temple</em> and the Seine, when a voice called for Clarke with great enthusiasm. The blonde only had a second to mask her surprise that Tris, the young 14-year-old Assassin in training, had run to her side.</p><p>“Clarke! It’s so good to see you! How are you doing? I haven’t seen you in ages.”</p><p>Despite the situation, the physician had to bite her lips to hide the smile provoked by the excitement of the wavy-haired brunette. She had grown close to Anya’s Second during her time with the Assassins and was happy to see her too. Noticing Bellamy reach for one of his knives, she discreetly shook her head and pulled the girl aside.</p><p>“It is good to see you too, Tris. How are you?”</p><p>“Good. Anya is trusting me more recently, she even let me be in charge of a few missions. She still said afterward that I was too careless and could have been faster, but I reached my objectives,” the brunette boasted with a smirk that made Clarke chuckle. “When are you coming back to the hideout? We miss you. Lexa hasn’t been the same since you’ve left and she was injured.”</p><p>“It—I wish I could,” the Templar apologized with a sad look. “I miss you too, all of you, but I cannot come back for now. My mother needs me. With everything that has happened recently, I cannot leave her alone to fend for herself.”</p><p>“I see,” the girl replied, looking at her feet to hide her disappointment. “Do you want me to pass on a message to Lexa? She looks like a sad puppy every time someone mentions your name, it's driving Anya crazy.”</p><p>Tris couldn’t have known how much her comment tore at Clarke’s heart, and it was with a trembling lip that she asked the girl to tell her lover that she missed her and thought about her daily. She knew that it wasn’t fair and that she should give Lexa a chance to move on, but she had left part of her heart back under <em>île Saint-Louis</em> in the hands of the kind brunette and refused to give up on their future without a fight. Before the young future Assassin could take her leave, Clarke called her back.</p><p>“Tris? You should not be out by yourself. There might be Templars roaming the streets. It is not safe.”</p><p>“As if they stood a chance to catch me,” the girl shouted back with a wink, before adding, “I will be careful, thanks, Clarke! Take care.”</p><p>And with that, the 14-year-old disappeared behind the corner of the <em>rue du Bec</em>, walking back to the hideout, oblivious to Bellamy’s eye roll and Wells’s chuckles. The two men had remained at a distance to let the two girls converse in private, but as soon as the young brunette had left, they resumed their position by Clarke’s side.</p><p>“What was that? She could have been here to end you,” Bellamy grumbled. “You should have let me capture her at least.”</p><p>“Bell… Come on! She wasn’t a threat; she was just happy to see me. What is wrong with you? She’s just a child. And a sweet one at that.”</p><p>“She’s one of <em>them</em>, Clarke. We can’t trust them.”</p><p>“So was Octavia,” the blonde pointed out, and the grimace on Bellamy’s face showed her that her argument had hit home. The relationship between the siblings was still, at best, very tense. The curly-haired man despised his sister’s attachment to the Assassins and Lincoln and saw them all as a threat that should be eliminated. Both siblings had been adopted by the Templars after the death of their parents, and Bellamy was deeply loyal to the Order and to their leaders. Clarke had no doubt that if he had been the one to find Lexa with her on that fateful day of March 1788, he would have finished her without blinking. But Octavia had been too young to learn about the Order and their sacred mission. Upon Bellamy’s insistence, she had been kept in the dark for years, and that had proved to be a mistake when, tired of being left alone all the time, she had sneaked out and met Indra before they could initiate her as a Templar.</p><p>“Bellamy, peace,” Wells, always the voice of reason, intervened as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “The girl was clearly not a threat. And besides, even my father would agree that we do not kill children.”</p><p>“I wonder, however,” he continued after a moment, his dark eyes lost in thoughts, “how come she did not know of your identity. Surely, if she had, she would not have approached you like this and assumed that we are Templars too. Are you certain the Assassins saw you?”</p><p>“Yes, without a doubt. If it were only Lexa, I might hope that she wouldn’t tell the council, but Anya and Lincoln saw my face when I pushed her over the railing. We stared at each other that day, on <em>Pont Marie</em>, and they recognized me. I saw the stupor and anger on their faces, even from the distance.”</p><p>“Then it seems that, for an unknown reason, they have not reported it to their leaders. If they had, then the Master Assassin would surely have informed all his fellow initiates and recruits and ordered them to either stay away from you or kill you. If this girl does not know, it sounds safe to assume that, apart from the three people you mentioned, no one else does either.”</p><p>“Why does it matter?” Bellamy challenged as they were walking back to <em>Le Temple</em>. “It’s not like Clarke can go back there anyway. Even if she’s crazy enough to trust Lexa, the other two will stab her the minute she sets foot on <em>île Saint-Louis</em>. and it’s probably only a matter of time before the whole Brotherhood knows who she is.”</p><p>Clarke wanted to argue with him, but a look from Wells persuaded her to keep her mouth shut for now. For all his loyalty and courage, the curly-haired man could be incredibly stubborn when he chose to be, and when it came to the Assassins, he could give an ass a run for its money. Instead, she wondered about what Wells had mentioned. She had no doubt that Lexa was to thank for her identity remaining a secret from the Brotherhood, and the thought warmed her heart. Even now, after everything that had happened between them, the brunette was trying to protect her from harm.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Vive le Roi! = Long live the King!</p><p>The French flag, blue-white-red, comes from the colors of Paris (blue and red) surrounding the white that represented the Monarchy. They were also the colors of the French Guards uniform, who were well-loved after the fall of the Bastille. It became the official flag in 1830.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. August 25 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reminder: I use the European flooring system. The ground floor is at street level, the 1st floor is one floor above street level, etc.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was only near the end of August that Lexa met Clarke again, and under circumstances she would never have imagined. The members of the National Assembly were scheduled to meet the following day, on August 26<sup>th</sup>, to adopt the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen drafted by, among others, Mirabeau. The count, along with the Marquis de La Fayette, his friend Brissot, and several other intellectuals and politicians, had gathered at a private hotel on <em>rue de l’Arbre-Sec</em> to finalize the draft and discussed some late adjustments before returning to Versailles.</p><p>As they feared some interference from the Templars, who seemed hellbent on protecting the Absolute Monarchy, Titus had sent Lexa to keep an eye on the place, and Anya had decided to join her. Both of them knew that the almond-eyed woman wasn’t only interested in having her friend’s back. She also wanted to make sure nothing would happen to Lexa if the brunette found herself face-to-face with Clarke and some Templars and refused to defend herself again.</p><p>The two women arrived around supper time and took position on the rooftop of the house across from the private hotel. The evening was peaceful and hot, making them both sweat under their hooded coats. From what they could see through the windows, the men had left the meeting room on the first floor and were gathered on the ground floor around a large table and enjoying a copious dinner brought by a couple of servants. Though they couldn’t see their faces distinctively, Lexa recognized the gigantic head of Mirabeau at the head of the table, and she knew that one of the others was Brissot. She shivered at the ominous coincidence of having two men she had almost died protecting located in the same room and then pretended not to notice Anya’s inquisitive look.</p><p>They had been on the lookout for only five minutes when an explosion pierced through the low rumble of the evening. The windows of the first and second floors exploded under the blast, and flames began to lick at the walls and window frames of the second floor, where the servants slept. The politicians and the servants rushed to the front door but found it locked. They could have jumped through one of the windows that led to the street, but with the heat rapidly rising, they all panicked and attempted to force the large wooden door that wouldn’t bulge.</p><p>“Anya, help them all out! I will try to salvage the important documents from the first floor before they are nothing but ash.”</p><p>“OK, be careful, Lex! There could be another explosive device or enemies hidden somewhere.”</p><p>And with that, both women climbed down the house they were on in a few seconds and crossed the street with haste. As the tall blonde set to force one of the windows of the ground floor to help the trapped souls out of the burning building, Lexa used the natural asperities of the wall to ascend to the first floor. The brunette used her wristband to remove the pieces of broken glass that remained and hauled herself into the room where the men had met to discuss the Declaration.</p><p>Though the explosive device had been placed one level above, the room was in utter chaos. The charred ceiling sported deep cracks that threatened to break at any moment, and the wind had sent several pieces of paper pell-mell onto the floor. Worse, Lexa could see the flames beginning to spread through, not to mention the smoke, and she knew that she had a few minutes, at best, to find what she was looking for.</p><p>Rummaging through old journals and convoluted documents of law, it took Lexa much longer than she would have liked, but she eventually found the precious paper she had been looking for. After confirming its nature, she folded it with care and placed it in one of the inside pockets of her coat. Time to leave, before the whole second floor came crashing down on her. While she had been looking around, the flames had made their way down the façade, engulfing the window. She would have to find another exit.</p><p>The brunette opened the door with care, in case the fire had made it down the stairs already. Luckily for her, the corridor was full of smoke, but apart from the intense heat, it remained flame-free. Keeping her head and torso as low as possible, the 20-year-old left the room and walked toward the wooden staircase. She knew that she had to leave the building quickly, but her instinct and conscience told her to have a look at the floor above, in case a servant had been hurt during the blast and forgotten.</p><p>She was halfway there, already coughing and with teary eyes, when she noticed a pair of legs poking from an open door. With the smoke around, and the flames coming from the end of the corridor and approaching rapidly, Lexa had to hurry if she wanted to make it out alive. Not taking the time to look at the unfortunate servant who had collapsed from the force of the explosion, the brunette pulled the lifeless body — a woman based on the size and weight — by the legs toward where she had come from. At the top of the stairs, she was about to place the woman over her shoulders to carry her, when she gasped at the sight of her face, recognizable despite the soot that covered it. Clarke.</p><p>Ignoring the danger that she was in, Lexa immediately placed her ear over the blonde’s mouth and let out a cry of relief when she felt a faint breath hit it. The Templar had been properly knocked out, a bump already visible on her forehead, but she was still alive, and based on the rapid examination the brunette gave her, she didn’t have any other external injuries. The loud crashing sound of a beam breaking brought her back to her dangerous reality, and Lexa hauled Clarke over her shoulders before striding down the stairs as fast as she dared.</p><p>Once on the ground floor, she noticed that the men and servants were gone. Anya had managed to break through a window as far from the raging fire above as possible and helped them all exit through it if the chair posted above a pile of glass was any indication. Not wasting another second, the green-eyed Assassin leaped over the wooden frame and moved away from the burning hotel.</p><p>Lexa looked right and left down the <em>rue de l’Arbre-Sec </em>in case whoever had placed the bomb was still around. Several onlookers were staring at the fire with their mouths open in surprise and confusion, but none of them seemed to pay much attention to the brunette. Still, she decided to put some distance between them and the hotel before the guards arrived. Not knowing where Anya had taken the politicians, she turned left and then right until she was on the much quieter <em>rue des Poulies</em>. There, she found an empty little square and gently placed the blonde on the ground, careful not to jolt her. Clarke hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but her breathing remained regular and she didn’t seem to be bleeding or in pain. Lexa used her handkerchief to clean away the soot covering her face, caressing the cheeks with tenderness. Despite her focus, she felt the shadow that had appeared behind her, and she spun around with her phantom blade ready to fire at the same time a baritone voice broke through the silence.</p><p>“I think I should take it from here.”</p><p>“Who are you?” Lexa growled, taking in the masked figure standing a few meters away from her, clad in the navy blue she had learned to associate with the Templars.</p><p>“My name is Wells,” the man replied, removing his mask to reveal his face. He seemed to be around Clarke’s age, with dark skin and intelligent deep brown eyes. He was clean shaved and sported short black hair and, though she should have seen him as an enemy, the brunette found his small smile oddly calming. “I am a friend of Clarke. And you are Lexa.”</p><p>“Yes. Wells… You were the one with Clarke that day when she saved me. The one who carried me to her home, right?” the brunette asked as she lowered her weapon slightly. The Templar didn’t try to get closer or reach for his own weapon. He remained rooted there, under a lamppost, his arms away from his sides in a non-threatening display.</p><p>“Yes, that was me,” he confirmed before adding with a slight shake of his head. “Not that she gave me much of a choice in the matter. To be honest, I thought it would be a waste of time. That you would thank her and then never been seen again. I had no idea it would lead to all of this.”</p><p>“Neither did I,” Lexa mumbled, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “But despite everything that has happened, we are friends. I think. I couldn’t let her there to die.”</p><p>“I take it that you were not the ones who planted the bomb?” the dark-skinned man asked, before continuing once Lexa had shaken her head, confirming his theory. “Clarke and I were supposed to steal the Declaration to postpone its promulgation. Before we could enter, we saw a servant leave the house in a suspicious manner, so I followed her while Clarke entered and continued the mission. I turned back once I heard the explosion, but your partner was around, helping the hotel occupants out so I could not make my way in. Once they were gone, I was about to look for Clarke when I saw you come out, carrying her.”</p><p>“Anya and I must have arrived just after you left then. We were supposed to keep an eye on the hotel and make sure nothing happened to the men inside or the Declaration, but the bomb went off only a few minutes after our arrival. I climbed and found Clarke unconscious at the top of the stairs, near where the bomb had exploded. She should see a healer; I fear she might have inhaled some smoke.”</p><p>“I will bring her back. Do not worry, her mother is an excellent physician. She was the one who trained Clarke after all.”</p><p>Lexa bit her lips, but eventually nodded her agreement, and let the kind man cradle the blonde into his arms. She knew that she couldn’t bring her back to the hideout, it was too risky, so she had to trust that the Templars would know what to do. Before she could leave, Wells spoke once more.</p><p>“How about the Declaration? Were you able to save it?”</p><p>“No,” Lexa lied, and based on the smile that pulled at the man’s lips, he didn’t believe her. Nonetheless, he was gracious enough to drop the issue. The life of his oldest friend mattered more to him, after all, than the success of a mission, no matter how important it was.</p><p>“Clarke is not one to keep secrets usually, but she has been very private about her time with you and the nature of your relationship. What I do know, however, is that she regrets hurting you and that she made it clear to us, her close friends, that she would not forgive us if we were to injure you or worse. If I am being honest, we all feared that she was naive to put her trust in you like that after the events of the 14<sup>th</sup>. I am glad to see we were mistaken,” Wells admitted, before adding when he saw the frown on the Assassin’s face, “What I mean to say is, thank you, Lexa, for saving her life.”</p><p><em>I didn’t do it for you</em>, the brunette thought, but she kept her lips sealed. There was no point in stating the obvious, as the man seemed to have clearly guessed the depth of Lexa’s feelings for the blonde in his arms. “I do not want to see her hurt either,” she confessed instead, and the way he nodded before taking his leave was a loud enough message<em>. I will trust you with her safety and heart, do not make me regret this.</em></p><p>Nothing more was said between them, and the Templar left as quietly as he had appeared, his precious cargo safely asleep in his arms. When, 20 minutes later, Lexa found Anya and the politicians she had saved hiding in a nearby inn, she didn’t mention the presence of the blonde in the hotel and her strange conversation with Wells. She simply gave Mirabeau the Declaration she had saved from the flames and accepted his thanks without a word.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (la Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen) was drafted by the Abbé Sieyès, the count de Mirabeau, and the Marquis de La Fayette, with inputs from his friend Thomas Jefferson. It is one of the bases of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights and was adopted by the National Assembly on August 26th, 1789. It didn’t recognize women’s rights and, despite Brissot’s lobbying, didn’t put an end to slavery either.</p><p>Everything happening on rue de l’Arbre-Sec is of course pure fiction.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. End of September 1789 (part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After all the events that had happened during the summer of 1789, the month of September felt strangely calm in Paris. The Templars, who had failed to stop the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen from being adopted by the Assembly, were licking their wounds and regrouping. The atmosphere at <em>Le Temple</em> was tense, as everyone was waiting for the next incident to happen without being able to predict where or when it would.</p><p>Thanks to her mother, Clarke recovered from her unpleasant experience on <em>rue de l’Arbre-Sec</em> in a matter of days. The blast of the explosion had sent her flying against the doorframe and made her lose consciousness. The lying position, however, had luckily protected her from the flames and the smoke around. She suffered from a bad headache and a few cuts and bruises, but her lungs hadn’t been damaged. When Wells brought her back to their headquarters, he told everyone that he had found her on the street and assumed that the explosion had sent her through a window, but both of them knew that it wasn’t true. Once they could isolate themselves, her friend explained how he had seen Anya get the politicians out and Lexa come out from the house a couple of minutes later, Clarke on her shoulders. Although their situation felt as if it was growing more complicated by the day, it warmed the blonde’s heart to know that the green-eyed Assassin cared enough to save her life and that Wells and Lexa had been able to have a conversation without trying to kill each other. Sadly, she didn’t get the chance to see Lexa for four weeks after that and thank her, but not a day passed where Clarke didn’t think about her favorite brunette.</p><p>By the end of September, the Assembly had passed the 19 articles of the new Constitution that strongly limited the power of the King. Louis XVI, in a gesture of defiance, refused to sign some of the decrees and began assembling his troops again. Jaha, anticipating troubles if the written orders were to fall into the wrong hands and alert the populace, decided to assign his Templars to the protection of the officers in charge. Which was how, after almost five weeks of inaction, Clarke found herself surveilling Shumway, a general who lived on <em>rue de Bretagne</em>, less than 200 meters away from <em>Le Temple</em>. She suspected that Jaha had assigned her there upon her mother’s insistence, as Abby was reluctant to send her on missions after nearly losing her. The chances that an Assassin would dare to come so close to the Templars’ headquarters were practically null, and the blonde could already feel boredom settle in.</p><p>She had been sitting on the opposite rooftop for almost two hours, side by side with Bellamy, when a curse coming from the lips of the curly-haired man got her out of her torpor. A hooded shadow was appearing and disappearing among the chimneys and dormers and headed right for Shumway’s house. Her friend aimed his rifle at the Assassin, waiting for them to get a little closer.</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clarke muttered as she placed her hand on the rifle, lowering it before Bellamy could shoot. “Don’t. It’s Lexa.”</p><p>“Clarke…,” he warned her, shaking his head with unmasked disdain.</p><p>“Stay here. I’ll make her leave.”</p><p>The dark-haired man sighed, but he agreed nonetheless and placed his weapon back on the ground. Clarke knew that, among all her friends who were aware of her feelings for the brunette, he was the least supportive and understanding. Getting him to not outright shoot Lexa was probably the best she could expect, and all she needed right now. With a thankful smile, she hurried to intercept the Assassin before she could enter the house Clarke was tasked to protect, jumping from one balcony to another with ease. The blonde made sure to place herself between the top window and Lexa, her empty hands clearly visible in case the brunette felt threatened and didn’t recognize her right away.</p><p>“Clarke?” she heard the green-eyed beauty say with a gasp as Lexa slowed down and approached her with caution.</p><p>“Seriously, Lexa? Do you have a death wish, coming so close to <em>Le Temple</em>?!”</p><p>“Orders are orders,” the 20-year-old shrugged.</p><p>“Well, I just stopped Bellamy from shooting you, so I guess that means you failed. Come on, you can’t stay here, it’s too dangerous. I’ll accompany you back toward <em>île Saint-Louis</em>.”</p><p>To Clarke’s surprise, the Assassin didn’t try to argue and fell into her steps with a groan. She knew how much Lexa was proud of her near-perfect rate when it came to accomplishing missions — as far as she had heard, the only one the brunette had ever failed was due to the blonde’s own interference — and she had expected more of a fight.</p><p>The two of them began their journey south, jumping from roof to roof with practiced ease. In truth, Clarke had always wanted to run freely over the top of the Parisian building with her lover, and she was enjoying every second of it. And if the small smile on Lexa’s face was any indication, she wasn’t the only one who was having a good time. They had passed the <em>rue des Francs-Bourgeois</em> when they both started to move faster and tried to outdo each other. Clarke leaped over a low chimney and rolled before jumping back on her feet with a smirk. The Assassin replied with a playful eye roll, recognizing the challenge for what it was, before jumping one floor down and using the railing of the balcony to propel herself. She flew over the street, the picture of grace, before catching the opposite railing with one hand and hauling herself up.</p><p>The blonde had to admit it, she had never seen anyone move the way Lexa did. She had known the brunette was a fantastic athlete, but it was something else to see her in action. As someone who had also trained her whole life and spent countless hours climbing up and down buildings, Clarke could appreciate how flawlessly the Assassin ran around, not wasting any energy, her actions deliberate and precise. Not for the first time since her first meeting with the 20-year-old, the blonde itched to paint her. She had a notebook filled with drawings of Lexa hidden in her room; her eyes, her mouth, her long elegant fingers, and would die of embarrassment if someone were to find it. During their time apart, she had found some comfort in the charcoal pictures of the woman she had fallen for. Her favorite was the one she had done after Lexa had recovered and left her house, back in March of the previous year. It represented Lexa sleeping peacefully in her bed, as she had seen her the very first evening. Not that Clarke would admit it, even under the threat of torture, but it was probably the moment she had started having feelings for the brunette. Feelings that had only increased with every moment passed in her company, to the point that the blonde had betrayed her family’s heritage and the Order by sparing the Assassin. And, come what may, she hadn’t regretted it a single time.</p><p>Distracted by her thoughts, Clarke didn’t notice a loose tile, and when she applied some weight on her foot, it gave way. Losing her balance, she was about to turn around and attempt to grab the gutter when a strong hand caught her wrist and pulled her back to safety. She found herself flush against Lexa, the green eyes she adored only centimeters away from her own, flecks of gold shining in the late afternoon light.</p><p>“Are you OK?” Lexa asked with concern, although a smirk was pulling at her lips.</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>Clarke felt the blush that began to color her cheeks, and she took a step back. In an attempt to hide her embarrassment for letting herself get distracted, she continued.</p><p>“I don’t think I have thanked you yet for saving me from the burning hotel. Wells told me what happened. Although, according to him, the Declaration had burned in the fire, but we all know that was a lie,” she finished with a wink.</p><p>“You don’t have to thank me, Clarke,” the brunette whispered, so low that the physician almost missed it. When she turned around, she noticed the tenderness in Lexa’s eyes and understood. The Assassin hadn’t saved her because she was hoping for a show of gratitude, but simply because she had been unable not to. The very same way Clarke knew that she would have pulled Lexa out of the building too if the situation had been reversed.</p><p>“As for the Declaration, I had it in my pocket before I went to check upstairs. If I had known you were there, unconscious, I would have gone to you first.”</p><p>“Lexa, I’m joking. You saved my life, that’s all that matters to me. I couldn’t care less about the stupid Declaration. The only issue I ever had with it was the fact that it doesn’t mention any women’s rights, only men!”</p><p>“Aren’t you Templars supposed to support the Monarchy?” the brunette questioned with a quirked eyebrow, although Clarke didn’t miss the way her mouth was pulled in a one-sided smile.</p><p>“Orders are orders,” the blonde parroted with a shrug, earning a chuckle from Lexa.</p><p>They were near the Seine, on <em>rue Geoffroy-l’Asnier</em>, when the Assassin stopped, looking thoughtfully toward her hideout. In a few minutes, they would have to say goodbye once more, and who knew when they would see each other again.</p><p>“I missed you, Clarke,” she confessed, her voice quivering though she didn’t waver or looked anywhere other than in the blue orbs.</p><p>The blonde felt her eyes missed over the unexpected admission, knowing how hard it was for the brunette to open up. Lexa had spent 10 years listening to her mentor, the man who had saved her life, tell her that feelings — and especially love — were a weakness. And yet, despite everything she had been through, from the loss of her parents to the lives she had taken, the green-eyed Assassin had let Clarke in. The blonde had assumed that, after her betrayal, Lexa would hide what was left of her heart behind high walls and never talk to her again. Not only had the brunette surprised her with her forgiveness, but now she was giving them a chance once more, making herself vulnerable in hopes that, maybe, Clarke would take better care of her heart this time. Forcing her limbs to move, the Templar approached, step-by-step, until she was only 30 centimeters or so away from the immobile brunette.</p><p>“I missed you too, Lex. So much.”</p><p>The end of her whispered confession came out muffled when Lexa pressed her lips against hers. Long fingers wrapped themselves around her neck and tangled in her hair, scraping her scalp, and Clarke heard her own moan rather than felt it leave her throat. The kiss was nothing like their other ones. It was raw passion, the result of all the pent-up emotions of the previous three months exploding in a messy battle where tongues immediately met. There was no time for sweetness and tenderness, for hesitation and reassurances. Clarke gasped in surprise when she found herself pressed against the bricked wall of a chimney, the rough and unequal surface digging in her back. Rather than complaining, she pulled Lexa closer, one hand in her braided hair and the other glued to her lower back until there was not a millimeter between them.</p><p>When they finally separated, panting, their lips swollen after the assault they had endured, and their pupils blown wide with lust, both women stared at each other in silence.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was originally meant to be a chapter where Clarke and Lexa argued and fought before ending with a rough kiss, a bit like Buffy and Spike in BTVS Season 6. And then this came out instead. Blame my romantic side *shrugs*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. End of September 1789 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NSFW</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before Clarke could utter a word, Lexa had reconnected their lips in another searing kiss that made her knees wobble. The blonde couldn’t remember ever feeling this way with other lips on hers. She had had two lovers before the brunette, one man and one woman, and neither had left much of an impression on her. She recalled sweet kisses and tentative touches, but everything had been forgotten rather quickly once she had met the beautiful green-eyed Assassin. And even with Lexa, though their time together had been absolutely amazing, they had been careful and tender. They had explored each other’s body with gentle hands and soft caresses, but always mindful of staying quiet and in control so the other Assassins wouldn’t catch them.</p><p>This time, there was nothing sweet or tender about the way Lexa plundered her mouth, her marvelous tongue exploring every millimeter available to it with unchecked enthusiasm. The Templar reciprocated in kind, her lips aspiring the wet muscle that had forced them open, her fingernails already digging into the strong back. She could feel goosebumps form under her ministrations, and couldn’t wait to get her lover out of her clothes. It had been too long, months since the last time they had been intimate, and Clarke wanted more, needed more. Realizing that if they didn’t move soon, they would have sex on the roof of a random house, she pushed against Lexa’s shoulders, separating them. The whine that escaped the pouty lips she craved to sink her teeth in made her smile, but she remained resolute and grabbed one of the brunette’s hands, pulling her toward the north-west.</p><p>“Not here,” she told the brunette, and Lexa blinked once before nodding and following the blonde silently. She had apparently understood the words hidden under the two that had been said out loud. <em>I want you too, just not out in the open</em>.</p><p>Their run to <em>rue du Renard</em> was a haze, Clarke barely paying attention to their surroundings. They had to give a berth to the <em>Hôtel de Ville</em> and the <em>Place de Grève</em>, always crowded, lest they would be spotted by one of their respective friends. They were almost there when they paused on top of a low-rise building bordered on three sides by taller ones and that offered relative privacy. Already missing the feeling of Lexa’s mouth against hers and not wanting to wait for another second, Clarke grabbed a slender wrist to spin her around. She placed one hand around a strong cheekbone and stole a kiss before the brunette could fully comprehend what had happened and why they had stopped.</p><p>To her credit, Lexa caught up in a second, her mouth becoming hungry again against the blonde’s. The Templar had only meant to kiss once more before they finished their journey to <em>rue du Renard</em>, but the brunette had other ideas. She pushed Clarke’s body back until she was pressed against the wall once again, squirming and panting. A strong hand immediately took possession of a breast, kneading it with a clear purpose, not hard enough to hurt but not so gently either. The blonde threw her head back so fast that it hit the bricks behind when her nipple was pinched, and she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. Her hips were canting of their own accord, seeking some friction, and the Assassin took pity on her. As her left thumb continued to stimulate an already hard nipple, Lexa lowered her other hand and cupped her lover through her pants, making both of them whimper in each other’s mouth. Clarke could feel herself dripping already, and she knew that she wouldn’t last long. She had hoped to make it to the Templars’ room nearby, but it was too late now. The brunette had awoken her lust, and they wouldn’t be able to move until it was satiated, if only for a moment.</p><p>“Lexa, I need you,” the 18-year-old half-begged, half-ordered before she took the other woman’s hand into hers and all but shoved it down her own breeches. The green-eyed Assassin groaned, her knees wobbling for a second, and made quick work of the laces that hindered her movement. Once they were loose, nothing other than Clarke’s voice could have stopped her from diving in and, thankfully, the blonde was on the same wavelength as she was. It wasn’t safe or smart for them to indulge in their desire out in the open like that, but they couldn’t care less anymore. The brunette’s body and coat would hide the Templar and their activities from potential prying eyes if need be.</p><p>Lexa’s fingers found themselves coated with wetness as soon as they were in the undergarment; a clear indication of Clarke’s desire. Green eyes stared at blue ones to get the confirmation she needed, and without wasting another second, her middle and ring fingers plunged into the welcoming heat, causing the blonde to let out a loud moan. Clarke’s hips began to roll, matching the rhythm of Lexa’s thrusts, bringing her closer, deeper inside. Their kisses grew messier, to the point that they couldn’t really continue them anymore, and the Assassin found the soft skin of a taut neck instead. She nibbled at it for a moment, taking pride in the whimpers her actions elicited. When a hand grabbed her nape and brought her even closer, she understood the message and sank her teeth into Clarke’s shoulder. Not enough to draw blood, but it would leave a mark for days. Her palm was rubbing against the blonde’s bundle of nerves with each move she made, and she felt the nub tense against her wet skin. The walls fluttered around her fingers, trapping them tighter and tighter to the point that she could barely pull them out anymore. Adjusting her position, she brought her thumb against the erect clitoris. One, two, three small circles, and Clarke came around her, hard.</p><p>The young Templar felt her knees buckle under the strength of her pleasure. It was a good thing that Lexa was holding her steady, or she would have collapsed. Panting as if she had run a marathon, the blonde remained there for a few minutes, her back leaning against the wall, her eyes hooded and her mouth half-open. When she finally opened her eyelids, she almost gasped at the hunger in the viridian orbs that were staring back at her. Clarke wanted nothing more than to spin Lexa around, push her against the cold bricks and have her way with her too, but they had already taken enough risks as it was. Instead, she grabbed her by the wrist once more and pulled her toward <em>rue du Renard</em>.</p><p>“Come on. We are almost there, and we’ll need privacy for what I’m planning to do to you.”</p><p>The cuss word she heard come out of the pouty lips made her core flutter once more, and she hurried them up. When they finally reached the building that she had been aiming for, an unassuming four-story house, she produced a small key from one of her pockets, tied a ribbon around a small pole near the opening, and unlocked the dormer. Lexa followed her inside without a word, and despite the need evident on her face, she took a moment to inspect the room they were in. It was of a decent size, located under the roof but with enough headroom that they could stand in any spot without having to tilt their head. A bed was placed on one side, and a wooden partition delimited a space with a basin where one could wash. There was also a small table and two chairs near the opposite wall. Despite the fact that it was seldom used, no dust was visible, and some water and dry food had been placed in a corner. What seemed to surprise Lexa that most, however, was the fact that there was no other entrance apart from the window they had entered from. The spot where the door had been was walled up, cutting the space from the rest of the house.</p><p>“What is this place?” the brunette asked, her eyebrows brought together in confusion.</p><p>“One of our properties. We use it when we need to lay low and recover, or while preparing for a mission. Don’t worry, no one will bother us, that’s why I tied the ribbon. It lets the others know that the room is occupied.”</p><p>That seemed to be enough explanation for Lexa for now, as she turned around to face the blonde, and reconnected their lips. Clarke felt the brunette back her up until her legs hit the bed frame, and Lexa pushed her, not harshly, but hard enough that she found herself sitting at the edge. Rather than lying on the bed and letting the Assassin ravage her one more — though it sounded like an enticing prospect — the 18-year-old pulled at Lexa’s waist, forcing the brunette to straddle her. Their lips found each other once more, and the women exchanged whimpers and small bites soothed by apologetic tongues for a few minutes.</p><p>When Clarke felt the brunette hip rolls become more pronounced, she smirked and started to remove Lexa’s clothes. The gray coat fell from her shoulders and onto the floor with putting much resistance, but she took her time unbuttoning the white shirt she found under it. By the time she was done, Lexa was bucking against her and let a small whimper out.</p><p>“Please, Clarke.”</p><p>“Patience, <em>mon amour</em>,” the blonde smirked, and in their state of arousal both of them chose to ignore the term of endearment that felt so, so heavy between them. Almost as a way of apologizing, Clarke pushed the shirt over Lexa’s shoulders in one quick move and began nipping at the now naked collarbones. She took the time to kiss the marred skin under the clavicle where her stiletto had left a red scar, as if to say, <em>I’m sorry I hurt you </em>and<em> I’m glad you’re alive</em>. After fumbling around for a minute, her hands found the knot holding the bindings together, and unwrapped them without letting go of Lexa’s skin. She only moved her head back once the older woman was topless, pausing to admire the beauty finally revealed. The small breasts bounced with each move Lexa made, their dark pink nipples pebbled and begging to be touched. Clarke took one in her mouth at once, and she had to stop herself from smiling when the brunette’s arms wrapped around her head and pulled her closer. As if she was planning on letting go any time soon!</p><p>The blonde spent a few minutes licking and nibbling the dark pink nubs, eliciting whimpers and whines from the pouty lips resting against the crown of her head. But as Lexa’s hips moved more purposefully and she could feel some wetness seep through the blue and white pants and paint her abs, she knew it was time to stop teasing. Lifting the brunette’s butt from her lap, she helped her wiggle out of her pants, undergarment, and boots and managed to remove her own breeches and boots at the same time. She then pulled the Assassin by the hips so she straddled Clarke once more, her legs open, her wetness directly touching the pale legs. Lexa was <em>soaked</em>.</p><p>“Oh, Clarke,” Lexa breathed out as she rocked against a muscular thigh before biting her underlip.</p><p>The blue-eyed woman shivered at the need she could hear in her lover’s voice and took pity on her. Letting go of her hip, she brought her left hand toward the pulsating bundle of nerves already peeking out of its hood and drew small circles around it with the pad of her middle finger, not applying too much pressure yet.</p><p>“Inside. I need—”</p><p>Lexa didn’t have time to finish her sentence that Clarke had pushed a knuckle inside the warm and tight hole, earning a low moan from the brunette. She barely gave her lover time to adjust before pushing her middle finger all the way in and pulling it out almost completely. The blonde continued pumping in and out at an accelerating pace, her ring finger added to the mix, making it her mission to see the woman above her scream and her walls crumble. When the angle became too taxing on her wrist, Clarke rolled them over until she was hovering above the young Assassin, her weight supported by her right arm while her left hand was buried in heaven. Her pace had barely faltered, and she resumed her ministrations with renewed motivation as she felt Lexa’s walls clutching her. From then, it only took a few more minutes for the brunette to reach her climax, and the gush of wetness that covered Clarke’s hand was accompanied by a raw moan that almost made her come too. Lexa’s eyes rolled to the back of her head under the waves of pleasure that overpowered her, and her back, after arching for a few seconds, went limp as she fell back against the bed, spent.</p><p>After a short power nap during which Clarke wrapped herself against Lexa’s side, her head resting on the brunette’s upper chest, the two of them resumed their activities that continued well into the night. They alternated between lovemaking and bouts of passionate fucking, both of them coming so many times they began to fear they wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Exhausted and truly happy for the first time in months, the two women fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, Lexa spooning the blonde who still owned her heart.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hôtel de Ville = City Hall<br/>mon amour = my love</p><p>Notes: Place de Grève, (now called Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville) in from of the main City Hall of Paris, was called so because it used to be a sort of beach where the boats could unload. It was also a place where unemployed men could easily find some work to do. The expression “faire la grève”, which now translates as “go on strike”, originally meant “to be on place de Grève and wait to find some work to do”. It eventually changed with the idea that if you weren’t satisfied with your job, you could go look for another one there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. October 5-6 1789</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Early October 1789 would be remembered as the first time the French monarchy truly trembled and marked the beginning of its inexorable fall. Following the defection of the French Guards in July, a new unit, the Flanders Regiment, had been called to protect the royal family. As per tradition, a welcoming banquet was held in Versailles on October 1<sup>st</sup> in honor of the officers, and the whole affair — described as a gluttonous orgy — was reported in the newspaper the day after. After the poor harvest of 1788, the economy was struggling, the price of cereal and bread kept rising, and most of the population struggled to feed themselves and their children. The news of the banquet was seen as an insult from the Crown and damaged further the relationship between the French and their king.</p><p>On October 5<sup>th</sup>, infuriated by the shortage and the high price of bread, a group of market-women began to assemble in Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Their number continued to grow as more people, mostly women, joined their ranks and marched toward the <em>Hôtel de Ville</em>. The Assassins, who had by then heard of the mob assembling, estimated that at least 7,000 souls were gathered on <em>Place de Grève</em>. The city hall was ransacked as the crowd took up arms, and turned its attention to Versailles. The marquis de La Fayette, commander-in-chief of the troops in Paris, was powerless to stop the populace when his own men threatened to desert and join the Parisians. Instead, he was tasked by the municipal government of the capital to accompany the citizens and request that the king returned to Paris. The military man, in hopes to protect Louis XVI and public order, had no other choice but to accept.</p><p>The crowd, mostly composed of women, walked from Paris to Versailles in about six hours, the Assassins hidden among them with orders to keep an eye on the unfolding event and make sure that no Templar would interfere with the people and try to sneak the king out of Versailles. There, they were greeted by Mirabeau and Robespierre, among others, who listened to their grievances, and particularly their demand for food. Some of the Assembly members, along with representants of the market-women were received by the king, who gave them some food from the royal stores and promised more, appeasing them. Alas, it wasn’t enough to please most of the crowd, which remained around the palace, fearing that the queen would find a way to force Louis XVI to break his word. Even his promise, at six o’clock that evening, to accept the Declaration of the Rights of Man without qualifications didn’t suffice, and the sun set on a tense situation.</p><p>It was there, thanks to the cover of darkness and the anonymity offered by the crowd, that two lovers reunited at last. Octavia had persuaded her brother to let her go with him on her first official mission as a Templar and, when a melee separated them, she hid from him and the rest of their comrades. She went on a search for Lincoln, Indra, or even Lexa and, as fate would have it, it was the tall muscular man whom she spotted first. The short brunette rushed to the man she loved without realizing that, dressed in navy blue as she was, he might identify her as an enemy. Before he could sink his hidden blade into her, thankfully, the flame of recognition burned in his deep brown eyes, and a large smile tore at his face. Instead of the cold metal she had almost expected, the girl felt two strong arms wrap around her midsection and lift her high against a hard chest. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth on his less than a second later, not caring for the comments and looks of the women near them. She hadn’t seen the dark-skinned man since her fake kidnapping in June and she had missed him terribly.</p><p>When their lips disconnected, much later than etiquette would have liked it, the two lovers abandoned their mission and respective comrades and exited from the crowd as discreetly as they could. They found themselves in a small inn where Lincoln paid for a room and a light dinner, and there, away from prying ears, they shared what had happened to them since their separation.</p><p>The Assassin told Octavia how Indra had been injured and had eventually healed, thanks to Clarke and Luna. The young brunette had tears in her eyes at the mention of her former mentor being injured because of her, as Bellamy had hidden this information from her. He also recounted the events of July 14<sup>th</sup> and the reason neither he nor Anya had informed the council of Clarke’s true identity. In return, the 18-year-old told him how she had woken up at <em>Le Temple</em>, expecting the Templars to torture and kill her, only to find herself face-to-face with Bellamy. The discovery that her own brother was part of the group she had learned to hate was a hard blow, and it took her weeks to even agree to eat with them. In the end, she only agreed to do so in hopes that the Parisian Rite leaders would allow her to leave the headquarters again. She had hoped for weeks to be able to see Lincoln again, and when the occasion had presented itself, she had taken it.</p><p>Few words were exchanged after that, as the two lovers shed their clothes and lay on the bed together, forgetting for a few hours that they were on opposite sides of an unforgiving war. They both knew that Lincoln couldn’t leave the Brotherhood, he owed too much to them and every fiber of his being believed in the creed. Octavia wasn’t as committed to the Templars, but her brother and some people she could see herself become friends with were among them, and turning her back on them would mean, at best, never seeing Bellamy again. And at worse, death, as Thelonius Jaha didn’t seem to be the forgiving type. They had no other choice than to return to their respective headquarters the next day and wait for the next opportunity to meet in secret.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>When morning came, on October 6<sup>th</sup>, the protesters who had spent the night around the palace found a small unguarded gate and stormed inside, forcing the queen to leave her room and run barefoot to the king’s chamber. Only Lafayette and the French Guards’ intervention prevented a massacre, and the military man convinced the king to address the crowd that had returned outside. After his speech, the angry Parisians demanded to see Marie-Antoinette, and to their surprise, she showed up at the balcony. Her courage was saluted by the people, and the few muskets aimed at her were lowered without firing a single shot. Never had Lexa thought herself so close to seeing a royal getting killed, and though the Assassins had no wish to see the king or queen die, she knew that they would have been powerless to stop it from happening if the crowd hadn’t calmed itself. The royal family was, however, forced to return to Paris, and at around one o’clock in the afternoon, a crowd of over 60,000 people followed the carriage and the representatives of the Assembly back to the capital. The Templars observed the situation, seething, without being able to interfere. They had tried to enter the palace during the night and rescue the royal family but to no avail.</p><p>When most members of the Rite took their leave and discreetly followed the carriage, Raven and Marcus Kane, Jaha’s right-hand man, found themselves face-to-face with an Assassin and drew their swords at once. The woman, tall and lean, didn’t hesitate before unsheathing her own weapon and engaged them. The fight was a blur of clanging and sparks of metal against metal, the most intense Raven had ever been in. The Assassin, despite fighting against two opponents, one of which was one of the highest members of the Rite, could hold her own. She managed to inflict several cuts to the dark-haired Templar, though thankfully not deep, and even slightly injured her partner. It was only when another member of the Order, Bellamy, joined them that she snarled and retreated. The hooded figure had almost made it past the corner of a street when Kane shot his gun and hit her in the back, making her stumble. Raven couldn’t hold her gasp when the hood fell back and revealed dirty-blonde hair and high cheekbones.</p><p>“Don’t,” she said, lowering Kane’s gun before he could fire again. “You should go and help Bellamy look for Octavia. This is the Assassin who killed Finn. She’s mine.”</p><p>The two men hesitated for a second before nodding and leaving the scene. The woman, though an excellent fighter, was now injured and wouldn’t be a match for a furious Raven. Once she was alone, the dark-haired Templar ran after Anya, decided to finish her once and for all. Clarke had remained in Paris to protect <em>Le Temple</em>, and wouldn’t be able to stop her from getting her revenge this time. Careful not to get shot by the injured woman, she looked around and followed the few specks of blood on the ground until a deserted alley, 200 meters or so from where she, Marcus, and Bellamy had been standing. There, she saw the Assassin sitting on the pavement, her back leaning against the wall. The almond eyes shot open at the sound of the Templar’s footsteps, and the woman tried to lift her right wrist with a groan. From what Raven could see, the bullet had gone through her right shoulder, blood visible on both sides of her chest. When she noticed the Templar’s gun aimed at her head, the blonde rolled her eyes and let her arm fall with a huff.</p><p>“Do you know who I am?” Raven asked, her jaw tense as she tried to control the anger in her voice.</p><p>“A Templar.”</p><p>“You killed my lover. His name was Finn.”</p><p>“I’ve killed many men,” the Assassin shrugged, although a flicker of something appeared on her face for a second. “Don’t remember all their names.”</p><p>“He was a Templar too and lived on <em>rue des Vieux-Augustins</em>. You killed him last December, threw a knife at his throat.”</p><p>“Yes, I remember him now. He was a cold-blooded killer; 18 innocents had fallen by his hands when we finally caught him.”</p><p>“Is that all you have to say?” the black-haired woman shouted, her voice quivering. She knew what Finn had done; Clarke had confirmed it. And yet, she refused to accept that the man she had loved, the teenager who had always smiled at her, could have done all those things.</p><p>“I could tell you that I’m sorry, or that I regret it, but I don’t. He was a murderer. No one else is to blame for his death but him,” the Assassin replied with a poised voice. To her credit, even in the face of death, the woman with striking features remained calm and brave.</p><p>“We’re all murderers.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Anya conceded with a nod, “but I’ve never killed a child. Have you?”</p><p>Taking Raven’s silence for an answer, she continued. “He deserved what he got; I won’t apologize for that. But I killed someone you loved. I get it. If you want your revenge, take it. I won’t stop you.”</p><p>The statement and acceptance made the Templar hesitate. No, she had never hurt a child, it was a line that Templars refused to cross. And yet, Finn had. In his madness and quest to obtain information on the Assassins, he had done the unthinkable. Her hand shook under the weight of her weapon, and the tan-skinned brunette lowered it. Part of Raven’s brain reminded her that she shouldn’t let her guard down, that the Assassin could kill her in a second with that damn phantom blade of hers, but Anya didn’t move. She simply observed her, silent, with an eyebrow half-raised in surprise.</p><p>Though she disliked taking a life, Raven was no stranger to it. When circumstances had forced her to, she had shot a few people. In fact, if the bombs and weapons that she designed counted, then she probably had spilled more blood than anyone else at the Parisian Rite. But this time, it was different. The person in front of her wasn’t some nameless, faceless Assassin. Was it because of all the anecdotes Clarke had shared about her time with the Brotherhood, many of which had included the blonde with a sharp beautiful face? Or was it simply a byproduct of their brief conversation, the woman’s understanding touching the Templar; the loneliness in her almond eyes resonating with Raven’s? Either way, the black-haired woman hesitated to pull the trigger, and in the end, she put away her gun.</p><p>Without another word, the Templar left the alley and the still bleeding Assassin, trying her best to ignore the pang in her heart. When she noticed a sign on the window of one of the shops, she let out a deep sigh before pushing the door. Luckily for her, with the events that had transpired, the physician didn’t ask many questions and pocketed the few coins she left on the counter before making his way to the alley she had indicated. Raven chastised herself for caring, but she followed the man from the rooftops, and only left once she had seen him and one of his apprentices carry the injured blonde inside his house. She told herself that it was only to make sure that the physician wasn’t taking advantage of her and that her money had been well spent, but the argument sounded like a lie even to her own ears. The dark-haired Templar shook her head at her weakness and went in search of a horse to ride back to Paris.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apart from the Assassins/Templars parts, all the events described in this chapter really happened, including the crowd making its way into Versailles and Marie-Antoinette running barefoot and showing up on the balcony in the morning. A few soldiers were killed and their heads ended up on pikes. The royal family and the National Assembly moved to Paris, the king practically a prisoner by that time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. December 1789 to January 1790</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarke and Lexa met on several occasions during the following two months; their friends pretending not to know what was happening between them. By an unspoken agreement, the two women kept quiet about their respective missions, too happy to enjoy the few hours they could sneak away from their responsibilities and leaders. Lexa pretended not to notice the bruises on the blonde’s back when she peeled her shirt off, the result of Kane’s intense training. And when Clarke had to change the dressing on one of the brunette’s new wounds after an unfortunate run-in with a group of soldiers while looking for secret letters between the king and his brother in exile, she refrained from asking questions. The royal family had taken up residence in the <em>Palais des Tuileries</em>, on the west side of Paris. Despite the Templars’ best efforts to free them, the king and his family were guarded days and nights by the militia formed after the events of July and under the command of the National Assembly and remained glorified prisoners.</p><p>The two young women usually met in the Templars’ hidden room on <em>rue du Renard</em>, which had become their unofficial sanctuary, away from the conflict between their people. Consumed by the passion that united them, they remained blissfully ignorant of the fact that their friends were taking it upon themselves to keep an eye on the neighborhood while they were indulging in carnal activities. This discreet surveillance led to some awkward encounters between the Templars and Lincoln and Anya, which thankfully ended without any bloodshed. In fact, Lincoln and Octavia took advantage of the situation a few times and disappeared into a nearby inn, leaving their partners, when they had any, on the lookout. No matter how dark his skin was, Wells blushed like a tomato the day Octavia dragged her lover by the hand, leaving him alone with Anya. The dirty-haired blonde looked at him, an eyebrow perfectly quirked above her brown eye, before declaring, “Don’t even think about it, it’s not going to happen.”</p><p>Those little escapades lasted well into December, and both Titus and Jaha were none the wiser. Bellamy refused to formally meet his younger sister’s lover, but he kept his mouth shut, too worried something would happen to Octavia if he mentioned her dalliance to the Rite’s leader.</p><p>On December 20<sup>th</sup>, Lincoln was supposed to meet Lexa near <em>rue Saint-Honoré</em> to patrol the streets around the J<em>ardin des Tuileries</em>, and the brunette was waiting for him on a rooftop. As Christmas was approaching, the shaved-headed man had warned her that he would first go to a jewelry shop located on <em>rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs </em>to find a gift for Octavia. The young Assassin wasn’t therefore too alarmed when the bells of the church nearby rang five o’clock and her friend was nowhere to be seen. But when they rang half past, a bad feeling grew at the bottom of her stomach. No matter how in love he was, Lincoln had always been a serious and reliable man, and it wasn’t like him to stand her up without warning.</p><p>She paced up and down the streets between the meeting point and <em>rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs</em>, even going as far as to make the journey back through the rooftops, but she found no sign of the dark-skinned man. The jeweler confirmed that he had sold a golden ring to a man fitting Lincoln's description — he had vaguely hinted at a bracelet, not a ring, and Lexa nearly swallowed her tongue at that information — about an hour before. But no one seemed to have seen him since. The bells had rung six o’clock and then half-past by the time Lexa was forced to admit the unthinkable. Her friend, the closest thing she had to an older brother, was gone, taken by an unidentified enemy.</p><p>The brunette met Clarke two days after Lincoln’s disappearance. The happiness that always bubbled in her heart at the sight of her lover was dimmed by the sadness and fear she had been feeling for two days. The atmosphere in the Assassin’s hideout was gloomy and heavy, most of its occupants defeated and mourning their friend lost to the shadows. Titus had refused to send search parties, arguing that no other Assassin who had been taken in similar circumstances had ever been found. Anya and Lexa refused to give up, but what could they do, two persons in the middle of the large capital? To both her relief and disappointment, the blonde Templar confirmed that her Order wasn’t behind Lincoln’s disappearance. The brunette had come to suspect that something else was at play, and her conversation with Clarke only strengthen that belief. The Rite had been responsible for the death of countless Assassins over the centuries, but whatever had been done to the few members of the Brotherhood who had reappeared during the past two years, blood-crazed and barely human, the Templars were not to blame.    </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Mid-January 1790, the temperatures had dropped so much that a thin layer of snow now covered the streets and rooftops of Paris. With the soft crunch of the footsteps that betrayed one’s presence and the slippery tiles, winter was not the most Assassin-friendly season. And yet, Tris could not help but secretly enjoy the beautiful scenery under her feet. She was perched on the highest point of the <em>Hôtel de Ville</em>, surveilling the streets around and the populace that lazily strolled around the <em>Place de Grève</em>. After hours spent cooped up in the hideout, she was relieved to see the gray sky and to feel the cold air on her skin. Anya was a fantastic mentor, and she took her duty with more seriousness than anyone at <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, but during the previous months, she had forced Tris to spend much more time than usual at the hideout, reading books and learning about strategy. And when she was not trapped underground, the girl was sent on menial missions while the tall blonde left her for hours at a time. She knew that she should feel honored that Anya was trusting her and did not feel the need to watch over her constantly, but if she was being honest, the young brunette missed her older sister figure.</p><p>The teenager was lost in her thoughts, one foot dangling in the air, when some cries caught her attention. Standing at once, she noticed that unrest was coming from <em>rue du Coq</em>, behind the city hall. Taking advantage of the snow, the girl slid down the inclined roof, only stopping once she was at the edge by grabbing a pole that overlooked the gutter. With feline grace, she scaled down the official building, jumped over the small barriers that surrounded it, and ran toward the commotion.</p><p>She had barely turned around the corner of <em>rue du Coq</em> that a man passed by her, nearly knocking her over, his face overtaken with terror and some blood dripping down his chin. The girl regained her balance and brushed her coat with a grunt before raising her eyes, and the grotesque sight stole the air out of her lungs. Two bodies were lying on the ground, blood smeared everywhere. Despite her young age, it was not the first time Tris was confronted with violence and death. She had even taken five lives with her own hands, during two separate missions that had not gone as well as they should have had. Anya had taken the time afterward to comfort her and wipe her tears, not judging her when she had emptied her stomach in the nearby gutter. But this time, the gratuitous and disgusting aspect of the crime made her knees wobble. The nearest man had been struck with a large blade, from his left shoulder to his right hip, so deeply that it had gotten stuck in the bone and that his guts had escaped and were now clearly visible, half hanging from his mangled body. His face was frozen in a grimace of pain and surprise that would plague the teen’s nightmares for days on end. The second one, a few meters away, had had his skull broken with what looked like sheer pressure. His eyes were bloodied and pushed inside as if someone had stuck their thumbs in the cavities until they were nothing but goo. Tris felt herself turn green and she would probably have vomited if she had not suddenly noticed the third man spin around to look at her, his eyes red and his mouth snarling at her. Lincoln.</p><p>For a brief second, the young brunette wanted to run to her old friend and hug him. Everybody at the hideout had been so distraught to hear that he was missing, presumed dead, and relief flooded her veins when she realized that he was not. It was, however, short-lived, and the inhuman way he looked at her made her instinctively stop dead in her tracks. Gone were the gentle chocolate eyes that always glimmered when the man was having fun with Anya and Lexa, or the sweet smile he had for the recruits. Instead, she was greeted with blown pupils circled in an unnatural red, a clammy skin paler than usual, and bared teeth. Before she could utter a word or comprehend what was happening, the man she had known almost all her life was running toward her, his bloodied hands aiming for her throat.</p><p>Tris would never have thought it possible after all the hours she had spent training with Anya and the others, but that day, seeing her friend, basically an older brother, look at her as if he wanted to kill her, she froze. She did not try to grab her sword or her knife, she did not dodge or duck, she did not even try to scream. She remained rooted, her mouth half-open, her eyes closing of their own accord. She felt herself go airborne before her body collided with the ground, the pain reverberating in her right side. She assumed Lincoln had gotten to her, and it was only when she heard a female voice that her brown eyes shot open in surprise.</p><p>“Tris! Get up!”</p><p>Lexa, shock and anger in her always so expressive green orbs, had managed to push her to the side at the last second, making Lincoln miss. The lean brunette was standing between Tris and their friend, her sword drawn, although not aimed at his large body.</p><p>“Lexa, there is something wrong with him. I think he killed those two people,” the teenager half-sobbed as she refused to admit what it meant. She had never seen the bloodthirsty Assassins who had disappeared before being seen again and attacking people at random, but she had heard the stories. The members of the Brotherhood had been left with no other choice than to put them down in the end. Lexa seemed to have reached the same conclusion as her hand tightened against the guard of her weapon, but she did not move to strike him yet.</p><p>“Lincoln,” she pleaded, “calm down. It’s me, Lexa, <em>ta petite sœur</em>. And Tris. You don’t want to hurt Tris, do you?”</p><p>But despite the 20-year-old best efforts, the man did not seem to recognize either of them. To the teenager’s anguish, he charged at them again, clearly intent on breaking Lexa’s neck. The brunette sidestepped to put more distance between them and Tris and dodged at the last second. She caught one of his large wrists, let herself roll on her back, and placed a foot against the man’s stomach. With the momentum, he flew over her and hit the ground with a sickening crack indicating that he had probably broken his arm. And yet, he jumped back on his feet as if nothing had happened, and threatened to attack again. The girl was beginning to wonder if they would be able to stop him without having to resort to killing him when a figure clad in a navy-blue coat suddenly jumped down from one of the nearby balconies and stood by Lexa’s side. Clarke. Tris did not even have time to wonder where the blonde had come from, why she suddenly knew how to fight, or why she was wearing Templar clothing that Lincoln had leaped at them again.</p><p>The two older women split in an instant, letting him pass between them before they both kicked him in the back with such perfect synchronicity it seemed as if they had practiced that move for days.</p><p>“I’ll draw his attention,” the girl heard Lexa say, “can you immobilize him or knock him out?”</p><p>“Lex…” the blonde replied, uncertain. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“No, but I can’t let him die. Please, Clarke. He’s my family.”</p><p>The Templar bit her lips as if to stop herself from arguing, and nodded. Tris would remember very little of what happened afterward, shocked as she was to see Lincoln in such a state and Clarke adorning their sworn enemies’ clothing and yet fight alongside Lexa. She watched the two women dodge the man’s brutal but clumsy attacks for few long minutes; until the brunette had all of his attention and Clarke managed to sneak behind him and knock him out with a powerful blow to the base of his skull. Lincoln collapsed and would have landed on his face if Lexa had not softened his fall at the last second. The teenager remained sitting on the cold cobblestones, her mouth open at the strange show she had witnessed, when a lean yet strong hand squeezed her shoulder and brought her back to reality.</p><p>“Tris, are you OK?” Anya, not bothering to mask the concern in her voice, and the teenager nodded without a word. She thought she might have dreamed the whole interaction and Clarke’s intervention, but checking her surroundings, she frowned at the two figures behind Anya, dressed in navy-blue coats. Though she had never met them up close, her instincts shouted at once: Templars.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ta petite sœur = your little sister</p><p>Finally, the Assassins and Templars are interacting!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. January 1790 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once she was certain that her trainee had not suffered any injury and was simply in shock, Anya lifted her almond eyes to stare at Lexa and Clarke, who remained by Lincoln’s side. She had been patrolling the nearby streets, making sure no one was going for their hideout when she had heard some shouts and mention of a crazy man murdering random citizens. By the time she had made it to <em>rue du Coq</em>, Lexa was engaged in a dangerous dance with their brother, trying to keep his attention on her while avoiding his murderous blows. Anya wanted to jump in and help her, but Clarke was already there, visibly looking for a way to subdue the dark-skinned man without killing him. Her intervention could have upset the delicate balance the two women had found, so Anya had remained behind, ready to protect Tris if necessary. She had felt the two other Templars move to her sides but, recognizing Wells and Bellamy, she had not drawn her weapons.</p><p>“We need to move,” Wells broke the silence and all eyes turned toward him. “The guards will be here any minute now, alerted by the citizens who saw him kill those two men.”</p><p>“What are we going to do with Lincoln? We cannot bring him back to our hideout, Titus will have him killed on the spot,” Lexa replied, shaking her head at the thought. Anya wanted to disagree, but she knew that the Master Assassin would never allow such a risk. Whatever had happened to Lincoln, he was clearly under the same influence as the other Assassins had been, and the only solution the Brotherhood had found so far was to end their suffering.</p><p>“We need to carry him somewhere safe where I can try to help him,” Clarke offered, and Anya intervened before the two other men could voice their concerns.</p><p>“We are not going to let you take him! Who knows what you’ll do to him at <em>Le Temple</em>!”</p><p>“I was not talking about <em>Le Temple</em>,” the blonde placated her at once. “He would be put to death there too. I meant we need to take him to one of our safe places.”</p><p>Before Anya could attempt to argue further, Lexa had lifted a hand, asking her to stop, and the blue-eyed blonde had all but ordered her two friends to carry the unconscious man. Bellamy and Wells did not seem happier than she was at the prospect of them all working together, but they acquiesced and, with a grunt, placed Lincoln’s arms around their shoulders and lifted him off the ground. The journey to <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em> was done in silence, bar the huffs of the two Templars whose legs began to shake halfway through. Finally, their little group found itself on the second floor of a deserted house, and they placed Lincoln on one of the beds.</p><p>“Bell,” Clarke asked immediately, “I need you to go to the nearest blacksmith and buy sturdy chains. We’ll need to keep him tied to the bed until he’s better. Wells, can you return to <em>Le Temple</em> and bring Monty and Jasper with you? I suspect some kind of drug is affecting him, and their expertise might be useful.”</p><p>“We are not going to leave you alone with them!” Bellamy shouted at the same time Lexa asked with an eyebrow raised in doubt, “Are you sure it’s safe to involve more people into this matter?”</p><p>“They won’t hurt me,” Clarke replied to Bellamy with a sigh and an eye roll, before turning to face the brunette, “and no, it’s not ideal, but they are experts in botanic and chemistry. If I’m right and he has some kind of drug in his system, they might know more about it than I do. And besides, they know about us, so I’m not too worried about them betraying us to Jaha.”</p><p>“Jaha?” Anya interrupted, having never heard the name before.</p><p>“Thelonius Jacops-Hamoir, the Grandmaster of our Rite ever since Clarke’s father’s death,” Wells answered as he was about to leave the room. “Jaha for short, though he hates it. And my father.”</p><p>And before Lexa, Anya or even Tris could react to that new piece of information, the broad man had left the room with Bellamy and closed the door behind them. The three Assassins turned to face Clarke, who simply shrugged.</p><p>“We’ve been best friends since we were toddlers. I trust him, and he won’t betray us.”</p><p>Lexa seemed satisfied enough with the comment, but Anya had more difficulties swallowing the pill. All this time, she had been near the son of their current greatest enemy, and she had had no idea about it. Worse, he knew of Clarke and Lexa’s relationship, not to mention Octavia and Lincoln’s. When had they become so dependent on the goodwill of Templars? Lost in her thoughts as she was, she failed to notice that Tris had not said anything in a long time. Ironically, it was Clarke who showed some concern first and went to sit by the girl’s side on the other bed in the room.</p><p>“I cannot promise you that he will be fine, but I will do everything in my power to help him.”</p><p>“You are a Templar.”</p><p>The three women cringed at the statement that had escaped the recruit’s lips. In the commotion that had followed Lincoln’s capture and the journey to the safe place, they had forgotten to address the elephant in the room. Some Assassins and Templars were in friendlier terms than they should have been. To Anya’s surprise, Clarke nodded and explained everything to the teenager. How she and Wells had found Lexa, how she had manipulated the brunette to gain access to the hideout, how they had fallen in love despite the circumstances. The blonde did not gloss over how she had stabbed Lexa in order to protect her from the other Templars or deny that they were still seeing each other. Anya had already heard the story from the green-eyed brunette, but it was different to hear Clarke’s side of things. And though she would refuse to admit it, even with a blade to her throat, she felt some relief at the realization that the younger woman was as infatuated with Lexa as the 20-year-old was with her. Up to that point, part of Anya had feared that the physician was still using her sister, and for the first time in months, she felt a knot of anguish untie in her stomach.</p><p>Tris seemed to understand most of what Clarke told her, and though she grimaced at the story of Lexa being stabbed, she did not verbally or physically attempt to hurt the blonde. She sat on the bed, listening, asking questions for clarification, and even smiled when the brunette sat by Clarke’s side and took one of her hands in hers. What Anya had failed to anticipate was the hurt in the brown eyes when they turned to her, once the story was over, with tears pooling at their bottom.</p><p>“That’s why you made me stay at the hideout so often, or sent me on all those silly missions? So, you could keep an eye on Lexa and I wouldn’t find out that Clarke is a Templar?”</p><p>The tall blonde wanted to argue back that she was her mentor, and that she was free to teach her as she saw fit, but she took a deep breath instead to stop her cheeks from turning pink in shame. Because the truth was, she had not been the best teacher she could be to the teenager. She should have had her best interests at heart, and not care more about protecting her friend.</p><p>“I’m sorry Tris,” she eventually said, and the admission seemed to surprise everyone in the room. “I didn’t want you to be dragged into all of this too, to have to lie to the council. I wanted you to be safe from Titus’s wrath if he found out about all this.”</p><p>And though Anya was not looking at Lexa as she said those words, she distinctively heard the brunette’s breath hitch at the words and the realization of her selfishness. Everybody in <em>île Saint-Louis</em> knew that they could rely on the brunette. She was not only the most proficient Assassin among them, and a firm believer in the creed, she also deeply cared about her comrades. She would not hesitate a second to put herself in danger or to give her life for one of them, and they would gladly do the same for her. And yet, for all the meticulous planning she was capable of, Lexa had not even considered that her two best friends had put themselves at risk to protect her and her secret relationship. Because she had not asked them to, she had thought they were safe from Titus’s retribution should he ever find out. Based on how Clarke’s head was hung low in shame, she was having a similar epiphany.</p><p>Thankfully, they were all spared the awkwardness when Bellamy returned, carrying heavy chains that they tightened around Lincoln at once. Wells arrived soon after, accompanied by two young men also clad in the navy-blue coats typical of their order. The first one was a medium-height mild-mannered Asian man with kind dark eyes whom Clarke introduced as Monty, their expert in farming and herbs. The second one, an excitable fellow with short black hair and a perpetual grin did not give the blonde time to speak before he told them that his name was Jasper, the chemical genius. Anya did not even try to hide her contempt at his childish attitude, but Lexa seemed to find his enthusiasm amusing. He had clearly heard of them and wanted to meet them for a long time, to which Clarke replied with a playful eye roll that she had hoped this day would never come.</p><p>To their credit, the two young men truly were experts in their fields, and their help proved to be invaluable to Clarke. They could not figure out exactly which drug had been injected in Lincoln — they found the needle marks on his neck and in the crook of his elbows — but they managed to mitigate its symptoms. They also concocted on the spot some kind of tonic meant to help his body fight off the effects of the drug and keep him from thrashing about and hurting them or himself.</p><p>The hours passed and the Templars and Assassins kept a vigilant eye on the man chained to the bed. Octavia eventually joined them, having been informed by Bellamy of the events of the day, as well as Harper — Monty’s girlfriend and a good friend of Clarke too. The young brunette had been nothing but a shadow of herself ever since Clarke had informed her of her lover’s disappearance, and to see him, alive and breathing, despite the terrible situation he was in, brought back some color in her cheeks and happiness in her pale green eyes.</p><p>Despite all their efforts, during their second day at the Templar safe house, Lincoln’s heart gave out. Jasper was not sure if it was a symptom of withdrawal or if the muscular body had been through too much already, but after peacefully lying on his back for a couple of hours, the dark-skinned man suddenly went through a bout of epilepsy before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he stopped breathing. Bellamy and Anya had to drag a distraught Octavia out of the room while Clarke did everything that she could to keep him alive. With Lexa’s help, she unchained him and placed him on the floor before pressing his large chest with her hands at a regular pace. When she turned red in the face and her arms started to tremble under the effort, the brunette took over, following her instructions to the letter and desperately trying not to think of what it would mean if the blonde told her to stop.</p><p>After what had felt like an eternity, the shaved-headed man surprised them all by jerking his arms and taking a large gulp of breath. Wells and Monty were by their side in an instant, ready to hold the man down if he experienced another fit of violence, but Lexa saw the confusion and shame in his gentle deep brown eyes and gestured for them to stay back. No matter how terrifying the last 20 minutes had been, they had had one positive effect. Lincoln seemed to be back to his true self.    </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jacops-Hamoir was first mentioned in chapter 6 as De la Serre’s (Clarke’s father) former right hand and the presumed new Grandmaster. It’s a made-up name, although Jacops and Hamoir were both the names of real French noble families. I was pretty pleased with myself for finding a way to mention him without calling him “Jaha” right away and spoiling Clarke’s true identity</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. January 1790 (Part 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took Lincoln a few days to recover from the ordeal his body and mind had been through. Lexa and Anya offered to vacate the Templars’ safe place and move him to the hideout, but after Clarke pointed out that they could not yet be sure that he would not have another episode and that her help might be needed, they agreed to stay. Through one of their allies, a thief they regularly worked with, they sent a message to Titus explaining that they had run into some trouble and had to remain hidden for a while but were alive and well. They figured it would be easier to explain Lincoln’s situation in person once the dark-skinned man was fully back to his old self.</p><p>To Lexa’s surprise, the Templars elected to stay around too, and though they took turns going back to <em>Le Temple</em> to avoid raising their leader’s suspicions, the two groups ended up spending a lot more time together than she would have thought possible. At first, the silence between them was rather awkward, save for Clarke and Octavia’s attempts. But after a day, they all began exchanging stories about their recruitment and training; surprised to see how similar they were. Most of the Templars were either orphans, like herself, or children of members of the Rite, which reminded her of Anya’s situation. They had to refrain from talking politics, lest the amicable conversation would turn into a shouting match, but the young Assassin found herself growing fond of most of her new companions.</p><p>Bellamy was too temperamental and controlling for the brunette’s taste, but she appreciated Monty’s kindness and concern for Lincoln’s well-being, and the quiet reassurances offered by Harper. She had not known what to make of Wells at first. After a few hours spent in his company, however, she could understand why Clarke was so close to the smart and reserved man. During their third day on <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em>, a beautiful woman with long black hair tied behind her head and tan skin took over for Jasper and Wells. Clarke introduced her as Raven, her close friend and a mechanical genius, but it was the light pink on Anya’s cheeks and everybody else’s awkwardness that disconcerted Lexa. During all the years she had known the older Assassin, she had never once seen her being anything other than smooth and self-assured. While a younger and scrawny Lexa was blushing at the sight of smiling pretty girls, Anya had no difficulty bedding them for a night or two before moving to the next, always in control of the interaction. Seeing her avoid Raven’s eyes and nearly stammer while addressing her was novelty enough to warrant some questioning.</p><p>The occasion presented itself on that same evening when the brunette decided to climb to the roof to get some fresh air, and found her friend already sitting by the gutter. With a nod at Monty, who was keeping an eye out in case some other Templars decided to use the safe house, Lexa sat by the tall blonde’s side and admired the dark streets illuminated by the few lampposts.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Ahn. I never meant to put you and Lincoln in danger,” the green-eyed woman spoke after a long moment of silence, staring at her feet dangling in the air.</p><p>“I know… Lex, you are our friend, our little sister. Of course, we were going to protect you, whether you asked for our help or not.”</p><p>Lexa felt her shame increase tenfold and turn her head to the side to hide the tears pooling in her viridian eyes. She heard Anya let out a deep breath before continuing.</p><p>“You are allowed to want things for yourself, no one can blame you for that. I’ve known you since you were this tiny, skinny girl who had lost everyone she cared about. I saw you grow up, become the best Assassin among us, but you also had the biggest heart, and you hid it behind high walls. You were always so cold, so alone those past few years. You listened to Titus’s teaching and tried to keep everyone at bay, even Lincoln and me.”</p><p>She wanted to deny it, but it was all true, and the fact that Anya had noticed made her stomach hurt. The older girl had always been there for her, Lincoln too, helping her train, teaching her to read, pushing her to overcome her limits. She never wanted to make them feel like they were not enough, like they did not matter. Lexa tried to open her mouth to — apologize? explain herself? — but the blonde stopped her by placing a hand on her arm before carrying on with a small smile.</p><p>“The day I saw you come back from Clarke’s, you had this light in your eyes, this lightness. As if the weight of the world had finally been removed from your shoulders. You tried to keep it a secret, but it was evident that you had met someone. And I was terrified that you would get your heart broken, of course, and even more so after finding out who she really was, but it’s so good to see you smile too, you know?”</p><p>This time, Lexa could not stop the two tears that escaped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks all the way to her chin. With a wet chuckle, she nodded and placed her head against her oldest friend’s shoulder.</p><p>“I love you, Ahn.”</p><p>“I love you too, Lex,” the almond-eyed woman replied easily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and maybe Lexa had been wrong all along. Maybe they were not demonstrative people because she had never let her guard down enough for Anya to dare to do anything more than teasing her. If Titus could hear them now, he would scold them for showing weakness, but the brunette was starting to learn a lesson that went against his teaching. Love could make you strong too, it gave you a reason to keep fighting.</p><p>“Did something happen between you and Raven?” the younger woman broke the comfortable silence after a few minutes, and her friend’s gasp did not go unnoticed. “You look as if you know each other.”</p><p>“It’s… Yeah, you can say that. Do you remember the Templar we tracked a year ago, the one who had killed 18 innocents?”</p><p>“The one who poisoned you?”</p><p>“Yes. His name was Finn and he was Raven’s lover.”</p><p>Whatever Lexa had been expecting, it was not that, and she jerked around to stare at her friend’s chocolate eyes with concern.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you go back to the hideout? What if she decides to kill you?”</p><p>“She won’t. She had her chance before and she didn’t,” Anya replied with a shrug, before explaining when she noticed the look of confusion on Lexa’s face. “Remember the day the Parisian crowd marched to Versailles and brought the king back?”</p><p>“Yes. You came back a few days later, after having been shot. Was she the one who shot you?”</p><p>“No. On the 6<sup>th</sup> morning, before I could leave, I came across her and another Templar, an older guy with a beard. He was the one who shot me when I tried to escape, and she followed me. She eventually found me in an alley, trying to catch my breath, and told me who she was. She wanted to kill me, but for some reason, in the end, she just left. She even hired a physician to heal me.”</p><p>If this conversation had happened a year before, Lexa would have urged Anya to be more careful and to keep her distance from the tan-skinned Templar. But after everything she and Clarke had gone through, if there was one thing she had learned, it was that people could surprise you. Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected to fall in love with one of their sworn enemies, or for her, Anya, Lincoln, and Tris to become somewhat friendly with a group of Templars. The almond-eyed Assassin seemed to know what she was doing; the least Lexa could do was trust her. Besides, she doubted Clarke would have willingly put them in danger by bringing Raven along if she did not believe the woman had given up on her vengeance.</p><p>The following morning, Lincoln had improved so much that Clarke declared him officially healed. He would need to stay away from the action until his arm had recovered, but the drug was out of his system. As they had agreed, the two groups met one more time for a long-overdue conversation. It was a strange thing to see, that day of January 1790, in a nondescript house on <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em>, a handful of Assassins facing some Templars, without a single weapon drawn. Lincoln had left the bed and was sitting on one of the chairs, Lexa, Anya, and Tris surrounding him. Octavia and Clarke stood between the two groups, once more being the connection between them. On the other side of the room, Wells, Bellamy, Raven, Monty, Harper, and Jasper were looking at them with thoughtful eyes, but without the contempt or aggression one might have expected.</p><p>The muscular man did not remember much of what had happened to him. Someone had knocked him unconscious before he could meet Lexa, and he had woken up in a cold cell. After that, he had been drugged over and over, until all he could think about was getting more of the strange red substance that he had been injected with. The day Tris saw him was the first time he was released, and he had orders to kill as many Assassins as he could if he wanted another injection. In his deranged state, he had killed two men who had looked at him wrong before Lexa and Clarke had managed to stop him. He could see what had happened in flashes, but it felt as if it was someone else moving and he was only a spectator. Once he was done, the Assassins and Templars pretended to ignore the tears in his eyes while Octavia hugged him more tightly than she ever had and let him sob against her chest. For once, even Bellamy seemed moved and did not comment on his sister’s display of affection.</p><p>After spending months among the Assassins, Clarke had noticed that some of the attacks they had suffered, though seemingly perpetrated by the Templars, had not in fact been ordered by Jaha. As each of them took turns recounting all the missions they had been tasked with and the various confrontations they had had, the two groups came to a conclusion that confirmed Lincoln’s story and the blonde’s hypothesis: under the disguise of a Templar dressed in black, someone else was interfering with the Assassins’ missions and capturing members of the Brotherhood. Lexa, especially, was the one who had encountered that man, Carl, the most. He or his accomplices were the ones behind the attack on Brissot, the trap targeting her in <em>Jardin du Luxembourg</em>, and the bomb that had almost killed Mirabeau. The motive of those masked black figures remained unclear, but it was a start, and both groups agreed to investigate the matter and collaborate until it was resolved. The Templars, especially, appeared angry to hear that someone was using them as a cover to commit crimes and stir trouble with the Brotherhood.</p><p>The conversation lasted well into the evening and left them all tense, as they had to compare the missions they had been on and realized that some of them had faced each other at one point or another. Lexa was sitting on one of the chairs in a corner when she suddenly remembered an event she had forgotten to clarify.</p><p>“What about a man named Sinclair, a representant for the Third Estate? He was shot in April while I was protecting him. That was one of you, right?”</p><p>A heavy silence greeted her question, and the Templars looked at each other uneasily for a moment. None of them said a word until Raven gritted out a, “You might want to ask your lover about this,” and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Harper squeezed Clarke’s shoulder gently before following the dark-haired woman out, presumably to calm her down.</p><p>“You were the one there that day, weren’t you?” Lexa sighed while looking at the blonde who nodded sheepishly. In truth, she had suspected ever since learning of Clarke’s true identity that she had been the one who had killed Sinclair. But with everything that had happened since, she had forgotten about it. “That’s why you didn’t shoot or engage me and kept trying to escape.”</p><p>“Yes,” Clarke admitted, relieved when she took the brunette’s hand in hers and Lexa made no attempt to remove it. “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you about it when we talked in Montmartre. This and the Bastille are the only two of your missions I interfered with though, I swear.”</p><p>“Was it simply because he agreed to represent the Third Estate? He was a good man, Clarke! A bit eccentric at times, but kind.”</p><p>“Lex… He used to be one of us.”</p><p>The brunette snapped her head around in surprise. That certainly explained Sinclair’s reaction the day she and Ryder had introduced themselves. But why would the Rite commandeer the murder of one of their own? As if she had read her mind, Clarke continued.</p><p>“I think I mentioned that my father was an inventor, right? He had a thing for numbers and loved to create new things. Weapons for the order, but also machines that could make life easier for everyone. He was a bit of a modern Da Vinci, and Sinclair worked with him. And yet, one day, one of his inventions suddenly exploded while he was alone in his lab and killed him. Both Sinclair and Raven, who used to be his apprentice, confirmed that it had been tampered with, and Sinclair left the Rite soon after when Jaha took over. He stayed low for a while, but during the elections for the Estates General we heard that he was back in Paris, and Jaha ordered him dead because he was apparently selling our secrets.”</p><p>“Do you think he was the one behind your father’s death?”</p><p>“It’s a possibility, yes. Raven doesn’t believe it though, and she’s still angry at me for killing him. In truth, I wanted to interrogate him first, but I didn’t get the chance. Jaha threatened to put someone else on the mission when I took too long, so I had to rush and shoot him before I could question him. I couldn’t risk someone else injuring you.”</p><p>The 20-year-old squeezed Clarke’s hand in gratitude and began to wonder how their lives could have become so complicated in such a short time. Never had the creed “Nothing is true, everything is permitted” seemed both so true and yet so impossible to understand. Where did the lies and hidden truths stop? Could she trust people who were meant to be her enemies and yet had indirectly protected her from their own peers? Only time would tell.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. March 1790 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between January and the end of March 1790, the two groups met several times, even if all the members could not always attend lest their leaders became suspicious. Lincoln’s return after weeks of absence was difficult to explain, and the shaved-headed man had to make up a story about being injured and being treated by Clarke at her mother’s place. Never had the four young Assassins been so grateful that Titus did not know the truth about the physician and still believed her to be on their side despite her absence. They spent countless hours looking for leads on who the men masked in black could be and what they were after. As far as they could tell, it seemed that they were targeting revolutionaries, but the list of suspects was endless. Those days, one was either in favor of the crown and the monarchy or against it, there was very little in-between.</p><p>It was only thanks to one of Bellamy’s contacts, near the 15<sup>th</sup> of March, that they were informed of a connection they had neglected. Brissot and Mirabeau, the two known targets of this mysterious organization, were both pro-abolition and members of Brissot’s club, the <em>Society of the Friends of the Blacks</em>. There was a possibility that this was a mere coincidence, but as it was their first theory in weeks, the young Templars and Assassins agreed to look into people who were vocal against abolition and would have a lot to lose if it were voted by the Assembly. Besides, they still had no idea who was behind the bomb of the hotel on <em>rue de l’Arbre-Sec</em>. The fact that Brissot and Mirabeau had both been there could indicate that they had been the targets all along, and not the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen like they had all assumed.</p><p>One week later, on March 23<sup>rd</sup>, Anya was getting ready for a mission. She had interrogated Brissot and Mirabeau and learned that they had parted on heated terms with one former member of their society, a young nobleman called Alexandre de Lameth. Lameth had first been in favor of the emancipation of the black people in the colonies, but he had had a change of heart during the previous months and now campaigned against abolitionism. It was not much, but the representative of the nobility might have been contacted by whoever opposed Mirabeau and Brissot, and the tall blonde decided to pay him a visit. She strapped her various knives around her body, tightened the belt of her scabbard, and inspected her hidden blade to make sure the mechanism worked seamlessly. Once she had refilled her pouch with poisonous and sleeping darts, she pulled the hood of her coat over her long dirty-blond hair and exited the hideout.</p><p>Her target resided in a small private hotel located on <em>rue Sainte-Anne</em>, in the northwest of Paris. The journey would take a good half an hour on foot, so the Assassin borrowed a horse from the stable near <em>île Saint-Louis</em>. She could always leave it at one of the many stables around the city if she had to. Pressing her mount, she made her way to Lameth’s neighborhood in record time. As it was midday, the streets were bustling with activity, and the lean woman had to plan a stealth approach. The rooftops were not guarded, but if she entered through a window, anyone passing by could spot her and raise the alarm. The back door sounded like a safer option for once.</p><p>Anya walked around the property twice, making sure to take note of all the entry and exit points as well as the movements of the staff she could see. The place looked relatively empty, and she had only spotted two maids and one valet, plus one guard at the front door. After taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, the blonde went for the small square at the back — a patch of grass with a tree and two bushes — and the service door located there. Anya ignored the kitchen on her right, where she had seen one of the maids busy preparing the supper, and went for the stairs. If her instinct was right, any documents pointing to a link between Lameth and the masked figures would certainly be in his office. The Assassin inspected the three rooms on the first floor, but none seemed to be what she was looking for. There was a lounge, a guest room, and a smoking room. She was about to take the stairs to the second floor when some noise alerted her to the incoming valet. Anya barely had time to vault the railing and hide that the man, a skinny fellow in his 50s, passed by, his hands full of newspapers.</p><p>Once the coast was clear, the blonde hurried up the stairs and entered the first door on her left. This time, luck was on her side as she found herself in the office she had been looking for. Ignoring the open window, she rummaged through the drawers and papers left on the desk, but none mentioned anything related to abolitionism or the <em>Society of the Friends of the Blacks</em>. Disappointed, she was on her way to the door to leave the same way she had come in when she heard the valet coming back up.</p><p>The room she was in was fairly large, but it did not offer many hiding places. The desk was not wide enough to hide her from the entrance, and the cabinet was not close enough to the angle of the room that she would not be spotted if she stood behind it. Experience had taught her that staying behind a door was the best way to end up with a broken nose if the person opened it too violently, and though she could always drug the man, she would rather her visit remained unnoticed. Which left her with only one option: going out through the window.</p><p>As the doorknob rattled, the Assassin leaped over the balcony’s railing and hauled herself into the tree. Anya held her breath, relieved to see that the foliage concealed her from the valet when the man’s head poked through the window as he closed it. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she grabbed the thick branch she had been leaning on with both hands, and let herself fall in the shrub below with agility. Her feet had barely touched the ground that a squeal coming from said shrub made her lose her balance, and Anya, the picture of composure and feline grace among the Brotherhood members, squeaked as she fell on her ass.</p><p>“It’s my bush, go away!”</p><p>“Raven?”</p><p>As she got back on her knees with as much dignity as she could muster, her hair almost poking out of the greenery, the blonde took in the dark-haired Templar in front of her. Raven was sitting on her right leg, her body leaning backward and resting on her hands, her left leg straight on the ground.</p><p>“What happened to you?”</p><p>“I was going through Lameth’s papers when his valet entered the room five minutes ago or so. Like you, I jumped through the window and hid in the tree. But then I missed my landing, and I hurt my ankle. I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t walk.”</p><p>“We have to leave before someone spots us. I’ll carry you.”</p><p>“No, thank you. I’d rather hop my way out of here.”</p><p>Trying to ignore the childish behavior of the younger woman, Anya bit her lips and placed one arm behind her back and the other one under her legs with care. Raven froze, having clearly not expected the Assassin to go through with it, and by the time she came back to her senses, the blonde had already cradled her in her strong arms and left the bush. Walking as fast as she dared without hurting the tan-skinned girl further, Anya only slowed down once she was certain to have put enough distance between them and the house that they were safe. They agreed that the blonde would carry the injured Templar to the nearest stable, and then Raven would hire a carriage to bring her back to <em>Le Temple</em> where Abby would heal her.</p><p>She could feel her heart beat loudly in her chest as her body reacted to the one in her arms, and she prayed Raven would not notice. With all the recent excitement and their investigation, she had not bedded anyone in weeks, and now her center was reacting with a vengeance. Heat was pooling in her lower stomach, and her nipples and nether bud woke, making her squirm as they brushed against her clothing. How unfortunate it was that the person who had stirred her desire was the one who hated her the most.</p><p>“Did you find anything interesting?” she asked in a vain attempt to focus on something other than her throbbing sex.</p><p>“Yes. Some mentions of a secret gathering in a private hotel in Paris, the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em>. Lameth was recently invited to join them, and from what I read they meet once a week. We can all meet tomorrow on <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em> to decide on a course of action. That should give me enough time to have my foot immobilized.”</p><p>“Maybe you should give the papers to Clarke, or someone else. There is no need for you to risk injuring yourself more, you’ve already done a lot.”</p><p>“Why don’t you mind your own business?” the sable-haired woman replied between gritted teeth, her anger flaring up again. “You’re not my mother or my friend, and I don’t need your concerns.”</p><p>“Fine!” Anya bit back as she rolled her eyes. “See if I care.”</p><p>Luckily for both of them, the stable was within sight, and the Assassin dropped her charge on a nearby bench with just enough care that Raven groaned when her leg shifted but did not scream. Looking left and right, Anya made sure that neither of them was in any danger before moving away. Not wanting to aggravate the tension, she decided to leave without saying goodbye or look at the frustrating woman. She could understand why Raven hated her, of course, she did. But was it too much to ask that they be civil around each other? Their best friends were in love and their groups worked together, forcing them to meet every week or so. Why did Raven even insist on coming to those meetings if she abhorred the sight of Anya? The tall blonde had only taken a few steps that a voice hesitantly called her back.</p><p>“What? Are you going to yell at me some more?” Anya asked, and maybe she should have been the bigger person considering how lost the Templar seemed to be, but she was too tired to care.</p><p>“I was going to say ‘thank you’ actually,” the dark-haired woman retorted with a huff, “but on second thought, you can go to hell.”</p><p>“Raven… I’m trying, OK? I get that you don’t like me,” Anya growled as she came closer, so close that she found herself staring down at the other girl, their legs almost touching, “but I can’t change the past. We don’t have to be friends, but can you stop being a jerk?”</p><p>The blonde expected to be slapped for her comment. Or laughed at. Or possibly simply ignored, which in her head would have been the best-case scenario among all the others. But never would she have guessed that Raven was going to grab her by the collar and pull her forward and down in such a way that their lips crashed. The angle was a little off, and Anya was too stunned to move at first, but after a few seconds, they adjusted. Their heads tilted in just the right way, and their mouths began taming each other. The Assassin was the first one to let her tongue poke out and caress the other woman’s underlip, demanding access. She feared for a second that she had gone too far and would scare Raven off, but the tan-skinned woman whimpered and welcomed her. Anya explored the offered territory while her hands moved of their own accord to settle on narrow hips. She should have anticipated that the Templar would not remain pliant for long though, and she soon found her tongue being pushed back, and her own mouth was invaded by an inquisitive muscle. The blonde was used to being the dominant one; she took what she wanted and rarely gave anything, but for once, she did not protest and let Raven take control. The calloused hands slid from the sides of her face into her hair, and she felt herself being pulled closer. As she tumbled slightly, her right knee bumped against Raven’s left leg, making her hiss in pain and effectively ending the kiss.</p><p>With a slight frown, Anya took half a step back so that the black-haired woman could adjust her injured limb. Without thinking, she moved to caress the thigh in front of her and ask Raven if she needed more help when the Templar swatted her hand away. The gesture was not violent, but the rejection hurt nonetheless and made her clamp her mouth.</p><p>“Go. Just leave. Please.”</p><p>Anya wanted to argue that they should talk about what had transpired between them. The younger woman appeared so confused, however, her voice so broken that the blonde nodded and took her leave. She did not sleep that night as she replayed the amazingly good yet unexpected kiss in her head over and over again. When the sun rose, the Assassin groaned and gave up, her almond eyes redder than usual. It was going to be a long day, followed by an awkward meeting in the evening.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alexandre de Lameth (1760-1828) was a real French nobleman and a representant of the nobility during the Estates General. He was also a member of the Society of the Friends of the Blacks before leaving them and joining the Club Massiac.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. March 1790 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On March 24, Clarke was busy studying with her mother at <em>Le Temple</em>. Raven had returned the day before with an injured leg, and the blonde had treated it under Abby’s careful supervision. Fortunately for the dark-haired woman, nothing was broken, she simply suffered from a sprained ankle. The blonde had to put two wooden splints around it and tighten them with linen bandages, but it was not nearly as daunting as having to reset a bone. Once her mother was satisfied that the wound was immobilized, she made Clarke read about possible complications and alternative technic, which kept her busy well into the afternoon. When evening came, despite the two physicians’ recommendation to rest and stay off her leg, Raven insisted on accompanying the blonde to the meeting with the Assassins. She was the one who had found a serious lead, after all, and remained in possession of the incriminating documents. Reluctantly, Clarke agreed to hire a carriage and, under the pretense of gathering information on the Assassins, the two young women left <em>Le Temple</em> as the bells rang six o’clock.</p><p>The journey to <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em> was done mostly in silence, and the blonde could feel Raven become tenser. She would have attributed it to the excitement of her findings, but the tan-skinned woman had been behaving strangely for the previous 24 hours; Clarke wondered what her companion could be hiding. The slim woman had been aloof and evasive about the details of her injury. All she had said was that she had had to escape through the window to avoid being seen by the valet and had missed her landing, but gave no information as to how she had made it out of the property and into the carriage.</p><p>Once the vehicle had stopped in front of the Templars’ safe house, Clarke checked the neighboring roofs to make sure no one from the Rite had followed them and helped her friend inside. The stairs proved to be a hurdle for the injured woman, though she made a point of hopping around and climbing a few steps by herself before the blonde could persuade her to accept her help. In the end, with one arm on the railing and the other around Clarke’s shoulders, they managed to make it to the second floor, where the two groups were waiting for them while catching up on their recent findings. After helping Raven onto a chair, the physician took a moment to greet the Assassins and placed herself by Lexa’s side, their hands finding each other. Their relationship was an open secret by now, but the two young women did not feel comfortable with displays of affection in front of their companions. Octavia and Lincoln, sadly, did not share their qualms as the brunette was sitting sidewise on the muscular man’s lap, her hand rubbing his neck.</p><p>Everyone listened with rapt attention as Raven explained how she had heard about Lameth from Mirabeau and Brissot and had decided to infiltrate his house. The documents that she had retrieved proved to be letters exchanged between the young nobleman and the owners of a private hotel called the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em>, located on <em>Place des Victoires</em>. A group calling itself the <em>Club Massiac</em> was inviting him to join them every Friday to discuss the expansion of their plantations in the French Antilles and the danger that emancipation would bring. The documents also informed them that Lameth was the one who had paid a servant to place the explosive device that had nearly killed Clarke back in August. Lexa tensed at that revelation, and her lover's hand rubbing up and down her arm was the only thing that stopped her from rushing to <em>rue Sainte-Anne</em> and ending the man's fight.</p><p>To the blonde and everyone else’s surprise, once Raven was done, Anya took over. The Assassins and Templars had expected to have to look for information regarding the owners of the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em> and reconvene later, but the almond-eyed woman was one step ahead. The blue-eyed blonde suddenly realized why her friend had been so tight-lipped about her adventure and return to <em>Le Temple</em>. Anya had to have had something to do with it, and she saw Raven blush when she looked at her in question.</p><p>Ignoring the raised eyebrows, the tall dirty-blond-haired woman stepped into the middle of the room and shared her findings with her companions. The hotel belonged to an old noble family, the Wallaces. The patriarch, Dante Wallace, and his son Cage were the last members of a family tree that had once counted several branches based near the Atlantic. Though originally lesser nobles, they had prospered thanks to their plantations in the French Antilles and their slave ships and had everything to lose if the Assembly was to support abolitionism. Hence, Dante and Cage were vocal opponents of Brissot and his Society, and apparently not against resorting to other illegal methods to ensure their success.</p><p>“Excellent work, both of you,” Wells spoke at last. “I think we can all agree that the members of this <em>Club Massiac</em> are our best suspects at the moment. We need to find a way inside that hotel and look for proofs.”</p><p>“Don’t forget that some of them have been pretending to be Templars for months now. At least one of them is a very proficient fighter, and they have that drug that turns people into blood-crazed killers,” Lexa intervened, throwing an apologetic look at Lincoln at her last comment. “Getting in won’t be easy. I think we need to investigate them and their connections first before we make a move on their headquarters. We have no idea how many members they have or what kind of weapons they possess.”</p><p>The Assassins and Templars argued back and forth for several minutes before they could reach a consensus. In the end, most of them agreed with Lexa that they did not have enough information regarding their enemies to rush into an attack. Instead, they opted to look for members of the Club, such as Lameth, and gain more knowledge through them. It would take longer, but it was more prudent and a better way of ensuring that no one would fall through the cracks. The Templars and Assassins would ask their respective informants if they had heard of this <em>Club Massiac</em> and meet again a week later to compare notes. Once all of them had taken their leave, Clarke and Lexa remained behind.</p><p>“I missed you,” the 19-year-old said, gently kissing her lover’s jaw as her arms wrapped around a slim waist. “Sorry I couldn’t see you last night, I had to treat Raven’s injury.”</p><p>“I missed you too,” the brunette replied with a smile before bringing their lips together for a short kiss. “How is she doing? I noticed she was limping when you came in.”</p><p>“She’ll be fine as long as she takes it easy. Which, knowing her, won’t be that simple. It could have been more serious.”</p><p>“Good. By the way, was it me or did you notice something strange between her and Anya? They were barely looking at each other, and I swear I saw Anya blush when the two of you entered. Anya never blushes!”</p><p>“I did. And I was also wondering how she could have known to investigate the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em> when Raven hadn’t even shared that information with me until we came here. They must have met yesterday, and I think Anya was the one who helped her out of Lameth’s property. It’s the only explanation for how she knew what was on those papers before we did.”</p><p>“But why would they hide it then? If they had the same idea and met at Lameth’s hotel, why not tell us? Maybe Raven was embarrassed about needing her help, but Anya hid the whole thing from me too. We had a chat last night, and she only mentioned today’s meeting, nothing more.”</p><p>“Trust me, I plan on asking Raven all about it once I get back. But for now, I can think of much better things to do with my tongue,” the blonde teased with a smirk as her hand started to caress Lexa’s stomach over her white shirt.</p><p>The brunette let out a low moan when the hand became bolder and opened a couple of buttons before dipping in and drawing patterns on her skin. With all the missions Titus had sent her on recently, plus their own investigation regarding the masked men, she had not had much time to meet Clarke alone, and the two of them had not been intimate in weeks. She could already feel wetness pool in her undergarment and knew that the first orgasm would not take long. But first, she really wanted to hear Clarke scream and have her writhe under her.</p><p>With a rapidity that surprised the blonde, Lexa grabbed her behind her thighs and lifted her off the floor. When she felt strong legs wrap around her waist and her lover’s center against her stomach, she moved toward the bed. The younger woman was holding tightly onto her and nipping under her jaw while Lexa kneaded the strong bottom. When the front of her knees hit the bed, she leaned forward and placed the blonde against the mattress with care, their mouths not disconnecting for one second.</p><p>“I need you,” Clarke moaned as the brunette blanketed her, one of her thighs sneaking between the pale legs that opened wider to accommodate it. The desperate grind made them both hotter and wetter, but it was not nearly enough, and after a couple of minutes, Lexa rolled to her side so she could help the Clarke out of her clothing. Left in her bindings and underwear, the brunette placed herself back on top of a now very naked Clarke, desire and love in her viridian eyes. Despite the previous urgency, she took her time mapping the skin that trembled under her touch, relearning each mole, each dip and mark with her fingers and her tongue, until the blonde was a quivering mess.</p><p>“My revenge will be sweet,” Clarke warned her in-between pants as her hips rolled to meet Lexa’s hand that had finally found her core. With a chuckle, the 20-year-old picked up the pace and entered her lover with one finger before quickly adding one. The blonde canted her hips to meet the thrusts, her moans growing louder and closer as her nails left some red marks on the Assassin’s back. When Lexa added a third finger without warning, the Templar careened over the edge, her back arching over the mattress. The brunette admired the result of her efforts with a smug smile, her hand trapped between the shaking thighs, but when Clarke, overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasm that had not tapered off yet, bit her shoulder, she could not stop the yelp that escaped her.</p><p>“Sorry,” the blonde said, pointing at the red mark on Lexa’s skin, once her breathing had eased. “It was amazing.”</p><p>“Don’t worry. The collar of my shirt will hide it, and it was more than worth it. You were beautiful.”</p><p>“Hmm, I believe it’s your turn now,” the physician replied with a glint in her eyes that made the Assassin shiver. Her desire had not subsided, and making Clarke come had done nothing to lessen the wetness of her sex. She was almost embarrassed for the blonde to find out, but the Templar did not give her time to ponder over it. She pulled helped her out of her clothes and pulled Lexa’s arm until the brunette was lying flat on her stomach, and she straddled the back of her thighs.</p><p>“Is this OK?” she asked, knowing that the Assassin was not one to show her back or lower her guard easily.</p><p>“I trust you,” Lexa whispered, the smile on Clarke’s face impossible to see from that angle.</p><p>The blonde started massaging her innocently enough, the strong talented hands rubbing and rolling the hard muscles until Lexa felt like she could fall asleep. But the 19-year-old had other ideas, and she let her fingers skim lower and lower, goosebumps in their wake, until they were kneading at the brunette’s bottom. Not getting a negative or hesitant reaction, Clarke lowered herself so that her chest was brushing against her lover’s back, and kissed the sweaty neck. Her fingers dipped between the lean thighs that quivered when she found the entrance of the brunette. Adjusting to the different angle, Clarke pushed one finger all the way in and began pumping at a slow pace.</p><p>“Faster,” Lexa pleaded as one of her hands tightened around the pillow and the other pulled Clarke closer against her.</p><p>The blonde ignored her with a smirk and kept the pace, her lips nibbling at the soft neck offered to them. When she felt that Lexa was growing both frustrated and wetter, she added a finger, eliciting a moan from the pouty lips she could not kiss. Lexa was rolling her hips faster and faster, impaling herself deeper on the fingers while her clit rubbed against the sheet.</p><p>“Oh God!” she screamed as her orgasm took her by surprise when Clarke bit her neck at the same time as she flicked her fingers against Lexa’s front wall. Her body shook for a long time, and when the blonde started pumping again, she fell over the edge once more only minutes later.</p><p>“Stop,” the brunette yielded once the quivers had stopped, completely spent.</p><p>“Are you OK?” Clarke asked as she removed her hand and rolled to the side, finally staring at the green eyes she adored.</p><p>“Yes, but I’m exhausted. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too, Lexa,” the blonde echoed, the lazy smile on her lover’s face mirrored on her own. As the night settled over the French capital, the two women fell asleep curled against each other, dreaming of a world where they would be free to do so every single night.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Club de l’hôtel de Massiac used as the Mountain Men here is a real group that gathered at the hôtel de Massiac and opposed the Society of the Friends of the Blacks and abolitionism (Slavery in France was abolished from February 1794 to 1802 and definitely in 1848).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. May 1790 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the following few weeks, the two groups investigated the people behind the <em>Club Massiac</em> as discreetly as possible so they would not know they had been made. They attempted to focus on who the person responsible for the development of the red drug could be, but without much success. Although they often stayed with the members of their respective Order during their investigations, they mixed on occasions.</p><p>It was how Bellamy decided to accompany Octavia and Lincoln as they observed Charles de Lameth, Alexandre’s older brother. Though he proved to be another member of the Club, the man did not seem to be as involved as his sibling and the search of his house turned out to be fruitless. The only positive point, according to the young brunette, was that her brother was finally warming up to Lincoln and did not threaten to murder him in his sleep anymore.</p><p>The shaved-headed man had lost the ring he wanted to propose with during his abduction and could not afford a new one. Lexa and Anya had offered to lend him some money, but he was too proud and shy to accept and decided to wait until he could save enough to buy a new one. Octavia, however, found about it somehow — Lexa suspected that telling Clarke about it had not been the best idea — and corned her lover one evening they were alone, forcing him to admit what his intentions had been.</p><p>“I am so sorry O, and I promise you that I will take on as many missions as it takes until I can buy you the ring that you deserve,” the gentle giant finished, his head low in shame.</p><p>What he could not have predicted was for his young lover to take his hand into hers and get down on one knee. With their height difference, he had to lean forward and bend his knees too, and the sight was probably comical, but he did not feel like laughing. In fact, he could barely breathe as he noticed the smile on Octavia’s face and the tears in her pale green eyes.</p><p>“Linc, I don’t need a ring to know that we belong together. When you were gone, it was as if my heart had been ripped away from my chest. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, all I wanted was to lie down and cry. You are the kindest, bravest man I’ve ever met, and I would love nothing more than to be your wife. Will you be my husband?”</p><p>Beaming more brightly than he had ever had, the dark-skinned man lifted the Templar from the floor and wrapped her in a tight embrace. He only let her go when he felt her shake with laughter against his chest and looked at her with curiosity.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “I just realized that we’ll have to tell Bell, and he’s going to want to kill you all over again. Just when he was learning to like you.”</p><p>The tall man shrugged with a smile and embraced his fiancée. There was nothing he would not do for her, and if it meant enduring her overprotective brother’s glares and threats, he would.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>A few days later, a far less romantic scene was taking place at the Assassins’ hideout. Lexa, Anya, and Lincoln had been called into Titus’s office, and the bald man greeted them with a stern and suspicious look.</p><p>“I will be direct. It came to my attention that the three of you have been spending a lot of time away from here recently. You are always out, don’t always come back for the night, and when you return you don’t bring back anything that would indicate you were on a mission. What is the meaning of this? Are you planning on leaving the Brotherhood?”</p><p>“No, Master,” the three of them replied in one voice, surprised that he would doubt their commitment to the creed. They had been absent more, it was true, busy as they were chasing the <em>Club Massiac</em>’s allies and spending time with the young Templars, but they remained faithful to the Assassins’ ideals.</p><p>“Then why have you been away so much? What were you up to?”</p><p>“We are looking for a house,” Anya blurted out, grateful when the brown eyes of the man across the desk stared at her and missed the look of surprise on her companions’ faces. “We have been talking about it for a while and would like to move in together in our own house. We apologize for not telling you about it sooner and asking for your permission, but we wanted to be sure that it was doable and that we had some leads before we brought this to you.”</p><p>“I see,” he replied, unhappy to hear that some of his best people wished for more independence. It was a well-known fact that the bald man liked to control the Brotherhood as firmly as he could and that he did not approve of the Assassins having a private life outside of the lair. Yet, it was not rare for them to move out once they reached a certain age, and he could not stop them from doing so if it was what they wanted. Indra and Ryder both lived in the vicinity of <em>île Saint-Louis</em>, as did many others. Gustus and Titus were the only members above 30 who still resided permanently at the hideout. “So, you will remain together then? I don’t want you to be attacked by the Templars because you chose to be alone and partake in dalliances with strangers.”</p><p>“Yes, Master,” Lexa confirmed, sensing what Anya was trying to do. “At least one of us will come every day to receive our orders, and we will make sure to have each other’s backs. In fact, we were thinking of having Tris move in with us too. It would be easier for Anya to continue mentoring her that way, at least until she is ready to be initiated.”</p><p>The dirty-blonde-haired woman nodded her approval at the comment. Tris had proven to be a very talented recruit, and she did not want to stop training her. Besides, the girl knew of their alliance with Clarke and her friends and had met them several times already. Anya trusted her to keep her mouth shut about it, but it was simply easier to have her with them at all time rather than risk her letting something out in front of Titus or the council by accident.</p><p>“This is rather irregular. Recruits usually stay at the hideout until their training is complete,” the Master Assassin huffed as one of his hands rubbed his bald head. “But very well, I shall allow it. The girl has made great progress under your tutelage, it would be a shame to hinder it by assigning her to a different mentor.”</p><p>“She is your responsibility though,” he warned them all, even though his index was pointing at Anya, “and I expect you to make sure she keeps up with her exercises and missions. If I find out that she is getting behind, I will have her move back here. Do we understand each other?”</p><p>“Yes, Master,” the almond-eyed woman hissed, offended at his insinuation. She loved being an Assassin and was excellent at it, probably second only to Lexa. But, if she was being honest, mentoring young recruits was something that she enjoyed almost as much. She did not have Lincoln’s gentleness or Lexa’s soft heart, and it had been a surprise for everyone when she had decided to take on a trainee. But her time spent with the green-eyed brunette when they were teenagers had made her realize that she liked shaping recruits into great Assassins and adults. She would never admit it, but the hours she had spent with the younger woman, teaching her to read better and to yield various weapons were her best memories. The two of them now treated each other as equals, but her relationship with Tris mirrored the one they had had before, and she enjoyed it deeply. Lexa and Lincoln had both figured it out, of course, and she was grateful to the brunette for thinking of including Tris in this new endeavor.</p><p>Once they were out of Titus’s room and away from prying ears, Anya admitted to her two friends that she had been thinking about them getting a house for a few weeks. As their mentor had pointed it out, they were away from the hideout more often than not, and it would be easier for them to meet the Templars if they didn’t have to worry about their fellow Assassins taking an interest in their activities. Lexa and Lincoln could only acquiesce, and the three friends agreed to begin looking for a new home the following day.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>As it turned out, with all the recent riots and unrest, many people had decided to leave the capital and return to the provinces their families had come from. Not that the countryside and smaller cities were not the theater of unrest too. However, it was easier to feed your family when you had a farm than when you depended on the bakeries and markets being stocked. Many properties were therefore available for sale or for rent at a low price, and it took the four Assassins only a few days to find an affordable place perfectly suitable for them. Located on <em>rue Vielle-du-Temple</em>, almost halfway between <em>île Saint-Louis</em> and <em>Le Temple</em>, the three-bedroom apartment located above a shop was perfect for their meetings with the Templars. Apart from the front door that led to the stairway, it had several windows leading to the rooftop, and the buildings across the street were far enough that a shooter would have a hard time surprising them. With Lincoln and Lexa both expecting their lovers to visit on occasion, Anya agreed to share the third bedroom with Tris. The two of them replaced the double bed with two smaller ones, and everybody was happy.</p><p>The only thing Lexa missed was the extensive library of the hideout, but being able to spend some nights with Clarke more than made up for it. The two of them enjoyed the domesticity they could now indulge in, cooking together when the others were out and sleeping in each other’s arms. If it were not for the fact that they had to be quiet during their lovemaking to spare their friends the awkwardness of hearing them, it would have been perfect. On occasions, the blonde caught herself daydreaming about what it would be to live permanently with the beautiful brunette. Would they grow tired of each other and start arguing about mundane things once the excitement of the novelty had worn off? Or would they, like her parents, stay ridiculously in love until death did them part? Although it was still a bit early to tell, she had a feeling she and Lexa were meant to last, and she hoped to have the chance to build a family with her once everything was over.</p><p>One afternoon, the blonde was on her way to <em>rue Vielle-du-Temple</em>, her navy-blue coat floating around her and its hood dissimulating her hair. She and Lexa were supposed to have the place for themselves, as Lincoln was spending the afternoon and evening with Octavia, and Anya had taken Tris on a mission in Versailles. Her mind was swirling with images of what she wanted to do to Lexa. Pleasure the brunette from above her, under her, with her fingers, her tongue, making her scream until her throat was raw… Lost in thoughts as she was, she failed to notice the large shadow following her all the way to the Assassins’ apartment. She slipped in through the window, as she always did, and decided to tidy the place while waiting for Lexa who had gone to buy them food. She was walking around the living room, her hands full of papers, when a strong arm tightened around her neck and threatened to tear her head from her body.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Any guess on who the assailant might be? 😲</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. May 1790 (Part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Black spots were dancing in front of Clarke’s eyes as the pressure around her neck increased, and she felt herself fall out of consciousness. Only her reflexes, the result of the intense training Marcus had put her through, saved her. She lowered her head to stop the arm from tightening more and swung her legs until the heel of her left foot collided with the man’s knee. With a grunt, he let her go, and she rolled forward to increase the distance between them before spinning around.</p><p>“Gustus?”</p><p>“Clarke?”</p><p>In the scuffle, her hood had fallen back, revealing her face and her flaxen hair tied in a braid. The burly Assassin was looking at her with incredulity for a few seconds, and then anger took over his features as he realized who she was.</p><p>“You are a Templar?! You betrayed us all, you lied to Lexa!”</p><p>And with that, the giant attacked, his fists aiming for her head at great speed as he did not even bother to unsheathe his sword or use his hidden blade. In his furious state, he seemed determined to beat her bloody, and the physician knew that if one of his blows landed, he would certainly break something. She dodged the hands coming at her with a quick side-step, and continued dancing around the bearded man for a minute.</p><p>“Gustus, please, stop. I do not want to hurt you,” she pleaded, knowing that Lexa would never forgive her if she killed the man she saw as a father. Titus might have been the one to officially raise her and teach her to read, but the quiet giant was the one who had often told the young brunette how proud of her she was and encouraged her to challenge herself, not only as an Assassin but also as a person. Clarke knew that her lover had brought the damaged hidden blade that used to be under her bed at the hideout with her when she had moved out, and that Gustus’s gift was now residing under her new bed. The 20-year-old had once explained the significance of the broken pieces to the blonde, making both of them shed a tear as they talked about their dead parents.</p><p>But the dark-haired Assassin refused to stop and listen to her, and he continued his attacks. Jabs and rights kept coming at the blonde, and in the limited space she found herself in, it was difficult to avoid all of them. She leaped over the dining table in an attempt to put an obstacle between them so she could reason with the man, but he grabbed it with one hand and sent it flying against the nearest wall, breaking two legs in the process. Clarke swallowed thickly at the thought of what he would do to her if he could catch her again and she tautened her muscles. She could feel the scabbard of her sword hit her thigh, and the weight of the knives and pistols strapped around her body. She was not ready to shoot the man, even to save her own life, but maybe Lexa would forgive her if she stabbed him so he would slow down long enough for her to explain the situation? The blonde was about to grab one of her shorter knives and aim for his leg when she heard the door open and saw her lover enter the room, her eyes widening as she took in the sight that greeted her.</p><p>“Gustus? What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Stay back, Lexa! She’s a traitor. I saw her walking down the streets and followed her, thinking she was just a random Templar. But it’s Clarke, she lied to us. I found her going through your papers, clearly looking for some information to bring back to her leader,” the bulky man gritted through his teeth without taking his eyes off the panting blonde.</p><p>“I have been trying to tell you, I might be a Templar, but I am not your enemy. And I am definitely not Lexa’s.”</p><p>“Lies!” the man shouted as he lunged forward, his fist missing Clarke’s head by a mere few centimeters. He was about to launch a new series of attacks when the trembling voice of the brunette stopped him.</p><p>“Gustus, please stop. Don’t make me shoot you.”</p><p>As he turned his head, the older Assassin’s eyebrows rose when he noticed the phantom blade aimed at him, a sleeping dart ready to fire. Clarke’s heart broke for the brunette as she saw the sadness on her beautiful face, though she remained resolute in the face of Gustus’s disappointment and surprise.</p><p>“Lexa, what are you doing? She is our enemy, a Templar. Can’t you see it? She tricked you, tricked all of us, probably so she could access our hideout and learn our secrets. And then she disappeared and pretended to stay with her mother.”</p><p>“Gustus, please. I know who Clarke is, I have known for months now. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you attack her, you attack me. Can you take a seat and let us explain ourselves?”</p><p>The giant hesitated for a moment, but he eventually nodded and let his arms fall to his sides. Whether Lexa’s supplications had reached him, or he had realized that Clarke could have shot him but had put herself at risk by only dodging his attacks instead, he seemed willing to listen to them at last. The blonde hurried to place three chairs near the center of the room, two facing one, no table between them as it remained toppled in a corner.</p><p>It took the two women some time to gather their thoughts and decide how to start their story, but once they began, the floodgates burst open. They told him everything, from Clarke’s decision to use Lexa to how they had rescued Lincoln and discovered the existence of the <em>Club Massiac</em>. When the brunette mentioned that Clarke had been the one to stab her in July, the blonde could have sworn Gustus moved to jump at her and strangle with his bare hands. Lexa seemed to have noticed too because she placed herself between them and shook her head before continuing her retelling. The bearded man expressed his incredulity at the revelation that not only Lexa had been keeping things from Titus and the council, but Anya, Lincoln, and Tris too. However, he was forced to acknowledge that the secret club posed a serious threat to the Brotherhood since they were the ones behind the Assassins’ disappearances and erratic behavior, and they had to be stopped. The notion of some members of the Brotherhood working alongside Templars seemed to trouble him, but he had been much more in favor of the previous truce between them than Titus and had even come to respect Jacques de la Serre whom he had met once or twice.</p><p>Once they were done, Gustus stayed quiet for a long time as he pondered over all their revelations. Clarke feared he would denounce them to the rest of the council and bring trouble not only to them, but also to Anya and Lincoln, but Lexa trusted him, so she kept her comments to herself.</p><p>“Indra might approve of what you are doing, but Titus will never agree to work with Templars, so I won’t inform them of what you are up to,” the muscular man spoke, looking at them in turns with a warning in his eyes. “But they will find out eventually, as I did. This can’t continue forever. I will allow you to pursue your investigation and put an end to this <em>Club Massiac</em> together since you have gotten some promising results so far. However, once the threat has been eliminated, you will cease seeing each other. If I have to force you to move back to <em>île Saint-Louis</em> to keep an eye on you, Lexa, I will. Do you understand?”</p><p>Lexa appeared crestfallen at the clear ultimatum, but she had no other choice than to nod. Clarke wanted to argue that it was not fair, that they were not doing anything wrong by being in love, but she sighed and nodded too. The bearded giant agreeing to keep their secret for the time being was probably the best outcome they could have hoped for. She knew that if her mother had been the one to follow her and find out about her relationship with Lexa, the brunette would probably already be dead and she would be locked in <em>Le Temple</em> for the foreseeable future. Once again, they were being reminded that their relationship was doomed in the long run, and the reality of their situation shattered her heart. If her days with Lexa were numbered, she would make the most out of them, and give the brunette everything she deserved.</p><p>After the older Assassin had left, Lexa moved to her room without a word and let herself fall on the bed. The blonde considered leaving for a second, but the need to comfort her lover and take advantage of their time alone was stronger. She entered the open room and sat at the edge of the bed, her hand caressing the brunette’s back as she cried in her pillow.</p><p>“Shh, <em>mon amour</em>, it’s OK. Let it all out,” she whispered while moving so she could spoon the 20-year-old.    </p><p>Once Lexa had calmed down somewhat, she grabbed Clarke’s hand and pulled her closer, intertwining their fingers and letting them rest against her chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break like this,” she said as she sniffled, and the blonde kissed her shoulder in a tender gesture. “It’s just… the look on his face when I pointed my weapon at him. I had never seen him so hurt and disappointed. And what he said last, that we won’t be allowed to see each other when this is all over. I love you; I don’t want to lose you. But he isn’t wrong, if we are involved, then Titus and Jaha will find out one day, and it won’t end well. I’m so lost, I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“I know… I’m so sorry you had to confront him. We still have some time; we are nowhere near ready to attack the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em>. Let’s take it one day at a time, OK? We’ll find a way; we have to because I’m not ready to lose you either. I love you, Lexa, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I won’t give you up without a fight.”</p><p>That seemed to have been the right thing to say as Lexa, comforted by her lover’s reassurance, turned around and kissed her like there would be no tomorrow. Clarke knew that it was not the healthiest way to deal with their new situation and that they would have to talk about it again. But, for now, she was happy to lose herself in the brunette’s arms, and less than a minute later, both of them were naked and grinding against each other with desperation. They made love several times that evening, their need to stay skin-to-skin, mouth-to-mouth, greater than the imperative to breathe or rest. There was not a patch of skin that did not end up being touched, caressed, or licked, and they came with loud cries and tears rolling down their cheeks.</p><p>The following morning, when Anya, Tris, and Lincoln returned home, the couple had the difficult task of informing them of Gustus’s visit and warning. If Anya and Tris were not happy about it — even the tall blonde had grown to appreciate some of the young Templars — Lincoln was as devastated as Clarke and Lexa. With his fiancée on the other side of the ridiculous and endless war between their people, how would they manage to stay together and have their happy ending? After a long conversation, the five of them promised not to make any radical decision without consulting the others. In his mind, however, the dark-skinned man was already considering leaving the Brotherhood if it meant being with Octavia. He could not imagine working for the Rite, though, and hoped that she would be willing to leave it all behind too and start a new life with him, away from everything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>mon amour = my love</p><p>So, anybody got the guessing game right? :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. July 1790</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the following two months, the four Assassins and eight Templars spent all their free time gathering more information about the <em>Club Massiac</em>. They met regularly to share their findings, either at the apartment on <em>rue Vieille-du-Temple</em> or at the Templars’ one on <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em>. They even began to train together, competing in free-runs around the neighborhood and trying to pickpocket each other. What had started as Bellamy boasting that he was the fastest runner around — he was good, but Lexa beat him by a few seconds — turned into friendly challenges that strengthened the ties between them. The knowledge that their days together were numbered made the experience bittersweet, but all seemed to hope that, even if they had to keep their distances in the future, they would at least be able to maintain the truce among them.</p><p>After stealing several confidential letters and threatening a few informants, they had learned that the <em>Club Massiac</em> consisted of 30 men and women, all with ties to the plantations in the French Antilles or the ships that transported slaves. The confirmed leaders were Dante Wallace and his son Cage, who also dabbled in chemistry. They suspected that he was the one behind the creation of the red drug that had nearly killed Lincoln, along with a foreign chemist called Lorelei Tsing. Carl Emerson, Cage’s apparent right-hand man, was the one responsible for the attack on Brissot and Lexa, and the brunette was looking forward to settling the score between them. Now that they had a better understanding of who they were up against, the young adults began to devise plans on how to take them all out at once.</p><p>Raven, the best inventor and builder among them, offered to improve their weapons and make them deadlier and more accurate. Assassins would once have shuddered at the thought of letting a Templar anywhere near their precious hidden blades, but after months of working together, the three adult members of the Brotherhood trusted the dark-haired woman enough to let her tinker with theirs. Thanks to the funds allocated by the Order, she rented her own private workshop on <em>rue Quincampoix</em>, far enough from <em>Le Temple</em> that they did not have to fear Jaha hearing about her side projects. After a few weeks of trial and error, she managed to noticeably improve the range and accuracy of Lexa and Lincoln’s phantom blades. With the gunpowder made by Jasper that they had switched to, the two Assassins felt more powerful than ever. Only Anya had been hesitant to disturb the dark-haired Templar, and the first anniversary of the Fall of the Bastille had come and passed before Lexa and Clarke could persuade her to visit Raven.</p><p>On July 20, the dirty-blond-haired woman finally walked down the street she had been avoiding and passed the door of the ground-level workshop. Her almond-shaped eyes bulged at the sight that greeted her. The place was well lit and more spacious than she would have expected it to be, and filled with metallic contraptions and sketches of different sizes. The three tables placed around the room were covered with papers, half-finished inventions, and materials she would have had a hard time naming. Despite the apparent shambles, Raven was walking from one table to the next with ease, grabbing a tool here, a piece there, and only lifting her head when Anya cleared her throat.</p><p>“Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”</p><p>The blonde hated how unsure and awkward she sounded. She was an Assassin! One of the best, with many kills and successful missions to her name. She had bedded numerous women over the years and not once had she felt anything other than in control. So, why did she get flustered every time she found herself near the black-haired woman?</p><p>“Will you, though?” the Templar asked with an eyebrow raised in doubt. “I have done Lexa and Lincoln’s blades weeks ago. I was seriously doubting that you would show up at all.”</p><p>Anya huffed in annoyance at the comment. It was true that she had waited for as long as she could before making this visit, but it was mostly out of consideration for the other woman’s feelings. They had not found themselves alone ever since the kiss, and the blonde had no idea where they stood. Raven had a valid reason to hate her and want her dead, and yet the Templar had not only spared her life and paid a physician to heal her, but she had also kissed her.</p><p>“I did not think you would want to see me. After everything…”</p><p>“Well, I don’t. But the success of our future mission might depend on your blade, so I’ll do my damn best to improve it, whether you like it or not!”</p><p>“It has worked perfectly well so far…”</p><p>Ignoring the grumbling blonde, Raven rolled her eyes and ordered, “Come on, strip!” before both women froze. Anya looked at the Templar with her jaw hanging in surprise, and the sable-haired woman coughed before adding while making a show of rolling her eyes, “You know what I meant. Remove your bracer.”</p><p>“If you want me to undress, all you have to do is ask,” the Assassin smirked, having finally found her voice and gotten some of her attitude back before she removed the leather band that contained her blade.</p><p>“Pfff, you wish. Last time was a momentary lapse of judgment that we shall not ever mention again! Now go sit somewhere and shut up while I work my magic.”</p><p>The tall blonde abstained from retorting, but she made a show of bringing a chair near Raven so she could watch her work. In truth, she was fascinated by how quickly the engineer managed to take her weapon apart and put it back together. She had already modified two models, of course, but it remained impressive nonetheless.</p><p>“Could you stop breathing so loudly? You’re distracting me,” Raven huffed as the Assassin had gotten closer without realizing it.</p><p>“One would think that, with the way you are squinting at it, nothing could make you lose your focus. Perhaps I should have someone else look at my blade, it would be very inconvenient if it stopped working at a crucial moment because you did a sloppy job.”</p><p>“I never do a sloppy job!” the Templar spun, affronted, and slammed the table near Anya. “And I don’t squint either. You’ll never find a person in this city who could do a better job than this all while looking half as good as I do.”</p><p>“That’s quite true,” Anya admitted in a quiet voice, but Raven had to have heard it as she let out a deep breath before placing her tools back on the table. The blonde had barely heard a “Damn you” that lips were on hers, making her nearly fall off her chair. Her instincts immediately took over, and she wrapped her arms around the lean waist, pulling the woman closer to her strong body. Anya could already feel her head swirl, a combination of the lack of oxygen and the intense sensations elicited by the hungry mouth against hers, when calloused hands grabbed her shirt and tore it open. Buttons flew around, and neither of them stopped. On the contrary, the Assassin wiggled out of the ripped garment and immediately peeled Raven’s jacket and shirt off, their lips disconnecting for only a second.</p><p>Anya wanted to lift her companion and sprawl her on the table, but with the number of papers and inventions on it, she had a feeling Raven would be annoyed if she carelessly pushed everything aside. Instead, she carried the dark-haired woman toward the center of the room and laid her carefully on her gray coat. Their pants and undergarment disappeared in a frenzy of kisses and caresses, leaving them stark naked on the floor, panting, blown up pupils staring at each other.</p><p>“Make me forget,” the Templar whispered in a breathy and needy voice, her hand stroking Anya’s lower back and pulling her closer. The blonde acquiesced by placing a soft peck on the dark lips before taking an already pert nipple in her mouth and suckling on it not so gently. Her hands moved to play with the other breast, kneading it, giving long appraising squeezes, and brushing the bud with her thumb. One of her thighs had slid between the two tanned ones and when Raven bucked against her, wetness painted her strong muscle, making her moan. Encouraging the younger woman to rock against her skin, Anya grabbed one leg and placed it over the back of her own, opening the Templar more so that the wettest, most intimate part of her was making direct contact with her thigh.</p><p>They continued grinding for a few minutes, Raven letting out soft moans and whimpers every time the blonde moved more forcefully or changed rhythm. Her hips were seeking more friction, her back arched to push more of her breasts into Anya’s mouth and hand, but it was not quite sufficient to get her there. Feeling like she had teased her enough, the Assassin skated her fingers down until they met short coarse hair and delicious heat. She could not wait to see the inventor writhe and lose herself underneath her, and the prospect made her wetter. She ran her fingers down the soft glistening folds and spread the slickness over the poking nub, making Raven shudder with a low moan at the first contact. She began to draw circles around it, large and then smaller and smaller as her mouth continued to lap at the beautiful breasts on display. It would probably have been enough to make the dark-haired woman come, but Anya knew that this might be the only chance she would ever have to see her like this, and she wanted all of her. Slowing down, she lowered her hand once more and dipped into the molten core.</p><p>Raven hissed at the intrusion, but she nodded almost immediately and grabbed Anya by the nape of her neck, bringing her even closer to her chest. Taking it as a sign of consent, the blonde pushed until her finger was all the way in, the walls clenching around it with hunger. She pulled it almost all the way out before sliding it back in, the thrusts slow but deep. When the Templar opened her legs wider, she added one, inserting them slowly to give her partner time to stretch before resuming her pumps. Raven had given up on words altogether, only moans and grunts escaped her red lips as her body rocked in pace with Anya, head thrown back and neck taut.</p><p>The blonde would have been happy to focus on the other woman’s pleasure — she owed her that, at least — but the Templar surprised her by grabbing her ass and encouraging her to grind on her thigh too. Anya had neglected her own needs so far, and yet the sight, sound, and smell of the beautiful tan-skinned woman under her had aroused her so much that, when her clit started to rub on the sweaty leg, she mewled. From then, it was a race to the finish line, both women rolling and canting their hips, their grunts mixing as did their saliva in a dirty kiss that did not seem to end. Raven was the first to fly over the edge, her cunt clenching with so much strength that Anya’s fingers remained trapped for a moment. The blonde, not slowing down her movements, followed her soon after and, as she threw her head back and whimpered for several seconds, wetness gushed out and covered the inventor’s leg.</p><p>Once their heartbeats had returned to a normal range, the gravity of their situation seemed to catch up with them. Anya was lying on her side, one hand rubbing the flat stomach in front of her when she heard Raven’s breath hitch. The Templar turned around, showing her back to the blonde, and Anya pretended not to notice the shoulders shaking. She wanted to kiss the crown of the woman’s head or her neck, but she knew that it would not be welcome. Whatever had made Raven lose herself and kiss her, the charm was broken, and the reality of their situation had returned.</p><p>Without a word, Anya stood and dressed. She recovered her hidden blade last and tightened the wristband with a sigh. She should have known that meeting Raven alone was not a good idea — not that she could have anticipated or that she regretted what had happened — and now things were even more complicated between them. As the Templar still had not moved from her coat, Anya approached her slowly and lifted the half she had been on, wrapping it over the naked body. The younger woman did not utter a word, too busy as she was stifling her sniffles, and the Assassin exited the workshop in silence, her heart heavy and her skin smelling like the woman who both despised and wanted her.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0033"><h2>33. September 1790 (Part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reminder: I use the European flooring system. The first floor is one floor above ground, and so on 😉</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two months later, the Assassins and Templars were ready to move on the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em> and the secret Club that used it as its headquarters. They had procured the plans of the hotel, they knew the exact number of members and all the entrances and exits, and their weapons were ready and deadlier than before thanks to Raven and Jasper’s expertise. They decided to attack on a Friday, during the Club’s weekly meeting, to eliminate all the members at the same time rather than hunt them down separately. At first, they had considered using an explosive device to blow the whole place up and savor the karmic vengeance, but the idea of killing the servants did not sit well with the group. No matter how vicious and deceitful the masters could be, there was no reason to think that the staff supported their racist beliefs and deserved to die too.</p><p>This was how, after long deliberations, the Templars and Assassins agreed to enter the hotel and come face-to-face with their opponents. It was riskier, but all of them were proficient fighters. After drugging some of the servants or persuading them to relocate to a different city, Harper, Monty, and Jasper managed to get hired by the Wallaces, thanks to the fake recommendation written by Clarke. Harper would work in the kitchen while the men started as footmen a few days before the planned attack. When the time was right, they would leave a window open, allowing the rest of their companions to enter the building and get to work.</p><p>Thanks to the numerous weeks they had spent training together, they all knew their respective strengths and weaknesses well and decided to split into two groups. The stealthiest of them, Lexa, Clarke, Raven, and Octavia would enter through the window on the top floor and make their way down, killing all the Club members they would find in their path while the strongest fighters, Anya, Lincoln, Bellamy, and Wells would block the main door and deal with anyone who tried to escape once the attack was discovered. Harper, Monty, and Jasper would remain inside and pretend to work for as long as possible while supporting Clarke and the others if needed. Not yet initiated as an Assassin, Tris would keep watch outside for the patrols and make sure none of their adversaries made it to the street.</p><p>On paper, the plan was good. And yet, all of them had enough experience to know that plans did not last long in battle and that anything could happen. This was why they spent the last few days before that particular Friday putting their affairs in order. When Clarke and Lexa were not wrestling in the bedsheets, they were with the two parental figures they had left, Abby and Gustus. The blonde could not inform her mother of their upcoming mission without telling her about the unofficial alliance with the four Assassins, so she kept her mouth shut and enjoyed the hours spent with the older physician. Lexa, on the other hand, let Gustus know what they were about to do and begged him to finish the job if they were to fail. The giant looked as if he wanted to go with her and keep her safe, but since he could not work with the Templars, he was forced to give her his word before hugging her tightly.</p><p>The rest of their companions acted in a similar fashion, Anya with Tris, Octavia with Lincoln and occasionally Bellamy, and so on, but Raven had no one special. Ever since Finn’s death, she had remained close to the young Templars, but Clarke feared her dark-haired would feel lonely and made sure to reserve one evening only for the two of them. They met at the safe place on <em>rue des Blancs Manteaux</em> where they ate a light dinner and conversed until late. Whether an effect of the wine they had had or the need to open up and unburden herself, the inventor suddenly blurted out, “I slept with Anya,” making the physician fall off her chair. Surprise flashed on the beautiful round face, quickly followed by confusion and a hint of apprehension.</p><p>“How did that happen?”</p><p>“I just… I’m not sure. She came to my workshop so I could upgrade her hidden blade. We argued, and all of a sudden I was kissing her.”</p><p>“Only once?”</p><p>“Well… We only had sex that day, yes, but I kissed her once before. The day I injured my ankle after finding the documents at Lameth’s place.”</p><p>“Ha, I knew you were behaving weirdly!” the blonde exclaimed, before making an apologetic grimace and encouraging her friend to continue.</p><p>“I don’t understand why she confuses me so much! I should hate her, or at least, not want anything to do with her. And instead…”</p><p>“Raven, I know how confusing it can be, with Anya being an Assassin and all, but—”</p><p>“It’s not that! I’m aware that she’s part of the Brotherhood, but it’s not like it’s stopping you and Lexa, or Octavia and Lincoln for that matter. She killed Finn. She was the one who ended his life, and I know that he did horrible things and maybe he deserved it, but still. I loved him, he was everything to me at some point, and now I’m betraying him and his memory by sleeping with his killer,” the sable-haired woman finished with a painful sob as her body rocked on the chair.</p><p>“She was following orders, it could as easily have been Lexa who had killed him,” Clarke cautiously started, staring at her friend as she rubbed circles on her arms to comfort her. “And to be honest, if Jaha had heard of what he was doing, one of us would probably have received similar instructions. He had lost his way, he wasn’t the person we knew anymore, his heart was filled with rage and he took it out on innocents. The kind, sweet boy we grew up with would want you to be happy and move on.”</p><p>“I’m not saying it has to be with Anya,” she continued after a moment, as Raven kept quiet, her deep brown eyes lost in thoughts, “especially since after tonight, we aren’t supposed to see them anymore. But I don’t think you should feel bad about liking her. Feelings don’t always make sense, that is something some of us learned the hard way ever since we got close to the Assassins. I have spent enough time with her to know that she is a good person. She is brave, loyal, and kind toward those she cares for. And based on how she looks at you, she cares for you too, it’s painfully obvious.”</p><p>“Hum, maybe,” the inventor shrugged, wiping the tears from her cheeks, “but as you said, it’s doomed anyway. We’ll have to keep our distances after this, and hopefully whatever I’m feeling for her will disappear over time.”</p><p>Clarke did not have the will to reply anymore, torn as she was over the impending future. Part of her knew that it was for the best that the two groups separated before their respective leaders found out about all the time they had spent together. Things would go back to normal, though they might be able to maintain some sort of truce between them. But when she thought about not seeing the stunning, adorable brunette she had come to love anymore, she could feel her heart being ripped out of her chest and a firebrand finding its way into her guts. How was she supposed to carry on living her life as if everything was fine when the object of her affection would be gone from it?</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>The last Friday of September, the two groups took position around <em>Place des Victoires</em>, where the <em>hôtel de Massiac</em> was located. As Clarke was waiting for Monty to open the window of the third floor, she tried to ignore the irony of being sitting between Raven and Lexa so close to the place where Finn used to live. As far as she knew, her friend had avoided Anya after their conversation, and she hoped they would find some sort of closure before parting ways. She did not have much time to ponder of this, however, as a handkerchief suddenly appeared below the rooftop of the hotel. Time to do what they all did best!</p><p>The four women nodded at each other and hurried toward their target, their feet not making a sound on the roof tiles as they jumped from building to building until they were above the hotel. Lexa was the first one inside, Clarke following her a few seconds later, and then Octavia, and Raven. Monty had already left the room and returned to the lower levels to keep an eye on their opponents. If everything went well, they would kill most of the club members before anyone could raise the alarm, and the other group would barely have anything to do.</p><p>As it happened, they did not encounter any issues on the second and third floors. The latter was practically empty, and after checking all the rooms and knocking out a couple of servants, they made their way to the former. On the second floor, they found a lounge occupied by six of the people they had been tracking down for months. Lexa sent one of the grenades prepared by Raven and Jasper rolling down the carpet before covering her face to avoid being blinded by the flash of light that followed. The men groaned in surprise and brought their hands to rub their painful eyes, but it was too late. The women stormed inside, silent and deadly as the cold that seeps inside and steals the life out of the poor in winter, when no thin blanket and warm wood-burner can keep it out. In less than a few seconds, the six men lay on the floor, bathing in their own blood, their deaths so efficient and quick that no sound had alerted the rest of the household. The only person they spared was a young girl who had been serving wine and would be in for a bad headache — courtesy of Octavia — when she would wake up.</p><p>After making sure that the rest of the second floor was empty, the four women continued their grim task and went down the stairs, their weapons ready and their senses on high alert. Monty let them know that the coast was clear while Jasper distracted the butler by dropping some wine on the floor, making the old man curse under his breath. On the first floor, Clarke grabbed a nobleman who had been alone in a corridor, probably on his way to a room where he could relieve himself, and sliced his throat before he could scream. With Raven’s help, she hid his body in a large cabinet, leaving Lexa and Octavia on watch. They killed two more men in a similar fashion, ambushing them from behind while they were alone and mercilessly plunging their hidden blades and knives into their throats.</p><p>In the next lounge, however, they were not as lucky. It was larger than anticipated and filled with many pieces of furniture that acted as shields. Raven sent a flash bomb in the same way Lexa had before, but some of the room occupants, protected by sofas and cabinets, saw them enter and started to shout. One of them even grabbed his pistol and fired at them, thankfully missing Octavia by a few centimeters. The sound, alas, alerted the rest of the building of the attack and the women lost the element of surprise. They disposed of their eight opponents without too much difficulty, but they could hear the front door open and swords cling downstairs. The second group had entered the hotel to prevent the club members from escaping.</p><p>Outside the lounge, Monty was waiting and informed them that Jasper and Harper were downstairs helping the rest of the Templars and Assassins. They were about to hurry and join their friends when a door opened on the left side, and two people came out to block their way. Lexa let out a half-cry of surprise as she recognized them.</p><p>During the planning of their attack, one element had been an issue from the start, the men under the influence of the drug. According to Lincoln, Cage called them Reapers, but the dark-skinned man had been unable to tell them how many were left. Most died within a few weeks of being taken, the stress induced by the drug too much for their body. The Templars and Assassins had no way of knowing of many of those bloodthirsty monsters they might face, and could only hope that they would not have to put down their former companions. Sadly, their prayers had not been heard, and the brunette felt her stomach drop as she took in the state of the two former Assassins who had gone missing months before. Tristan and Jason. Two well-trained, strong fighters, now pumped with the red drug and looking at them with a predatory smile.</p>
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